Chasing the Dragon
by Madame Manga
Summary: What is Bean Bandit doing in Hollywood? Rally's mad that he's spoiling her vacation--but soon dives into the action as she and Bean go up against the murderous Eight Dragon Triad! Hot action and gunplay in the spirit of the manga, with an erotic bonus!
1. Chapter 1

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter One**

One hundred and twenty-seven miles per hour.

The speedometer needle inched steadily upward as Rally Vincent leaned on the accelerator of her Shelby Mustang GT-500, hoping fervently that California Highway Patrol officers were not more vigilant than their Illinois counterparts. Cotton fields blew by in a dusty blur, the hills that had seemed distant half an hour ago now looming close to the west. An orange Toyota in the left lane ahead—she whipped the wheel to the right and blasted past him. The indignant honk quickly died away with the Doppler shift.

She inched the window down for a jet of air and wished that she could turn on the A/C. It was hot out here on Interstate 5: level, brown and treeless on the southern approach to Sacramento. But right now she needed every ounce of acceleration her engine could give her.

Was that him at last? Rally squinted through the bug-splattered windshield and rolled the window all the way down. She reached for the rifle that lay securely crosswise in the passenger seat well, its long deadly slimness adorned with her Schmidt and Bender sniper scope.

Steering with the right hand, she gripped the rifle in her left and slipped it out the window. She aimed it at the distant blot, hardly larger than the little black fatalities on the windshield, and took a quick look through the scope.

Crosshairs right on him. Low and black, glinting in the late-afternoon sun. That was the back of a 1968 Corvette Stingray 'shark', distinctive even at this distance. He must have changed cars since his escape, but it had to be him. He was still a mile and a half ahead of her, doing maybe a hundred and ten, but she could see to the horizon. This part of the Central Valley was considerably flatter than the Great Plains. Rally pulled the rifle back through the window and replaced it in the seat well. It wouldn't be long before she might be able to put it to use.

One hundred and thirty-nine miles per hour, and she barely had to steer to stay on the straightaway. This four-lane divided section of I-5 had to be the one of the greatest drag runs in the lower 48. The perfect stretch of asphalt for a muscle-car showdown. And she was racing with Bean Bandit for half a million dollars in cash.

* * *

Only six hours ago she'd been in West Hollywood, choking on greenish-yellow smog and the scent of cheap Mexican food.

"How can you eat that stuff, May? It...it's _vile!" _Rally waved the smell away with one hand.

"Whaddya mean, Rally? I like it!" said May through a mouthful of bean burrito with tomatillo salsa and extra cheese. She took her change from the pushcart vendor. "Gracias. Buenos tardes, amigo!"

"But you said this morning that your stomach felt like a grenade had gone off in it. Aren't you afraid you'll get sick again?"

"It's one P.M. Why would they call it morning sickness if you got it in the afternoon?"

"I think that's just an expression, May." Rally sighed and looked up at the billboard on the rooftop above them: a Pam Grier revival movie ad reading DON'T MESS AROUND WITH FOXY BROWN! SHE'S THE MEANEST CHICK IN TOWN!

"Not right now, she's not..." Rally chuckled and patted her shoulder holster through her jacket. Although they were nearly impossible to get, she had obtained a California concealed carry permit just in time for the trip. She didn't anticipate any gun-play, but her native caution and native passion for firearms dictated that she be armed at all times.

"Can we go to Universal Studios now, Rally? I want to see the Terminator 3 show! Ken said they do pyrotechnics right over your head, and the sound effects are MONSTER!"

Rally rolled her eyes with a smile both exasperated and affectionate. "I think that baby's going to be born with his fingers stuck in his ears..."

"I'm going to teach him everything I know about explosives. He's going to be the most popular kid in junior high school!"

Rally sighed. "I know you're having your last fling before motherhood, but don't you think you're overdoing it, May? You ought to be resting more."

"I'm not tired! I feel great!" May took another large bite of burrito and slurped up half her soda through the straw. "I want to do every amusement park in Southern California in one week!"

"Wasn't Disneyland enough? Do we have to go to Magic Mountain?"

"Hey, I didn't insist on Knott's Berry Farm. Pleeease, Rally?"

"Oh, geez..."

"Hey!" said a passerby. "Bitchin' car, lady!" He cast an envious glance at Rally's Mustang. "Is that a GT-500? Muy macho!"

"You got it." Rally beamed and patted the blue-and-white striped hood with affection.

"Hey, Raoul, check it out!" said the man to his companion. "This one will give your Firebird a run for its money!"

_"Firebird?_ Don't insult the wheels!" scoffed Rally.

"Yeah, it's OK," said the second man.

"OK?" Rally's blood pressure rose. "This is a 1967 _Shelby Cobra Mustang! _Original 428-cubic-inch Police Interceptor, dual four-barrel Holley carbs! The real thing, buddy! Not one of your post-emissions-standards wimp machines!"

"Sure, but I saw something this morning that makes yours look like that pushcart." The man bobbed his head at the burrito vendor and grinned. "Custom job. Five hundred ponies, he said, which I'd say leaves this jalopy in the dust."

He was right—her engine pulled more like 400 horsepower. Rally frowned. "Oh yeah? Friend of yours?"

"No, I never saw him before. I'd'a taken notice of that hombre even without the car." He scanned Rally up and down with an appreciative air. "I'd love to see a drag race with the two of you, conchita. Assuming you can really drive that thing!"

"Can I DRIVE this thing? I'll show you driving—just tell me where Mr. Custom Job is hanging out!"

"Ral-ly!" squeaked May. "Universal Studios!"

"I dunno where he is now—he was cruising along Melrose. Asked me for directions and said he was looking for some coke dealer. Boy, I feel sorry for that guy if he finds him!"

"How come?"

"Madre de Dios! He was huge!" The man described an expansive shape in the air with both hands. "Shoulders like that. And _teeth._ And a jaw like the front end of a Humvee. I said, no, I ain't seen him, SIR!"

"Uh, Rally..." said May. "That sounds kinda familiar." They stared at each other for a moment.

"Two things." Rally's teeth set on edge. "Was the car bright red? With a spoiler and really thick glass?"

"Yeah, it was."

"And did you see a scar over his nose? Like an X?"

"Yeah...you know him?"

"What the hell is he doing in California?" Her fists clenched; her heart pounded. "This isn't fair. I drive for a week to get away from all the crap in Chicago, and Bean Bandit turns up in the same NEIGHBORHOOD?"

"Bean Bandits?" said the first man. "Aren't they some drag racers from San Diego?"

"No, Bean Bandit! He's a courier, and that's his best car—the bulletproof one."

"He must be on a job," said May. "He doesn't use Buff for just driving around."

"A job in California? Well, maybe, but usually New York is as far as he ever goes!"

"Hey, it might be kind of nice to see him." May shrugged and smiled. "It's been months since we talked to Bean."

"Yeah, it has, and for damn good reason." Rally scowled at her. "I don't want to talk to him, and you'd think taking a trip out here would have guaranteed that! He's got NO business visiting the same state!"

The two men looked at each other in a speculative way. "Old boyfriend, huh?" said one, and they raised their brows at each other. "Too bad for him, conchita!"

"He is NOT my boyfriend, and thank goodness, he never was! But, uh…thanks for the info, guys. Can I treat you to lunch?" She gestured at the burrito vendor.

The two men exchanged looks. "From Manuel's cucaracha coach?" said the first one. "No thanks. I like my stomach the way it is."

May was just swallowing the last bite of her burrito, and looked a little green.

"I'll tell Señor Bandito you're looking for him, bonita," said the second man with a wink. "If I was him, I'd come running." They ambled off and Rally got out her cell phone.

"You're still holding that against him, huh?" May wiped her mouth and threw the burrito wrapper into a trash can. "When does he get forgiven for thinking you're good enough at what you do to go into business with him?"

"That's not the point. The point is…" Rally selected the first quick-dial and put the phone to her ear. "I am not a crook, that's what the point is. And Bean IS a crook, no matter what rationalizations he likes to use about his line of work. Thinking I'm too good to stay on the straight is NOT a compliment!"

The line picked up after the first ring. "Detective Coleman."

"Roy! Hey, it's Rally."

"Rally? Thought you were on vacation, girl. How's the weather out there in sunny California?"

"Hot. And smoggy. May loves it."

"Great. What's up?"

"I just got a good report that, uh, someone I've run into before has been seen out here. Roy, would you have any idea why a Chicago underground courier would be cruising Hollywood looking for a coke dealer?"

"None at all. Courier? If you're talking about who I think you're talking about, he doesn't exactly report in to the Chicago police department." Roy chuckled.

"Uh…yes, that could be who I'm talking about." She flushed slightly; Roy had never met Bean, but knew she and May had encountered him on a few occasions. What he didn't realize was that several months ago their communications with Bean had been friendly and even cooperative. If she could possibly help it, Roy would never know that. "I'm just wondering if this could tie into something at home. Has anything happened in the last ten days you could tell me about? Any loose ends having to do with a cocaine deal?"

"Hmmm...well, there was a big drug shipment rumored to be coming through from New York. Not coke, though. Heroin, right off the boat from Asia. We didn't track anything down. Got an anonymous phone tip to be at a certain warehouse last Monday, but the chickens had flown the coop."

"A tip? That's interesting." Rally frowned, scanning the street. "I wonder…"

"Something?"

"Maybe. I can't pin it down quite yet. Just a feeling."

"I've learned to pay attention when you get a feeling about something. You think this guy came all the way out there to deliver a load from Chicago?"

"Could be. Or maybe this dealer owes him money." Rally rolled her eyes. "Now that I think about it, that could be the most plausible reason! Still, I'm going to keep my eyes peeled for this guy. I really do want to know what he's up to."

"Not such a bad idea. If you need any help on the spot, you can call my cousin Steve in the LAPD. Tell him I'll vouch for your expertise."

"Thanks, Roy. Give my best to your wife."

"Mine too!" chirped May. "Bye, Roy!"

"Thanks, kids. Will do."

May had retrieved her camera and was taking pictures of the sidewalk stars. "So you really want to know what Bean's up to, huh? You could just call him and ASK! You've still got his cell number saved."

It was third on her quick-dial list, as a matter of fact, right after Roy and May. Rally hurriedly put her phone away. "Why would I want to do that?"

"You tell me. Why spend time hunting for ol' Bean in the first place? We're on vacation!"

"Because this strikes me as weird, that's why. There has to be something going down. Two thousand miles from his stomping grounds?"

May crossed her arms and stuck her lower lip out. "You just don't want to go to Universal Studios!"

"So I'll drop you off. You're going to want to spend the rest of the day there anyway. I'll pick you up later and we'll go for dinner. Huh?" Rally smiled with an edge of guilt. "C'mon, May—don't look like that. We'll go to Magic Mountain later, I promise."

"You said you wanted to get away from bounty work for a little while. From all those crooks who'd like to skin you alive. You said you wanted to have fun."

"I..."

"This IS your fun, isn't it? You aren't happy unless you're chasing people and shooting at them!" May cocked her camera and took a picture of Rally. "Bang! You're dead!"

"May!"

"Really! You ought to get yourself a boyfriend, Rally. Then you'd find out about something better than big guns!" She giggled and waggled her hips.

Rally looked at May's round stomach. "Better? At least my CZ75 won't knock me up and run off to New York!"

"Ken's only going to be gone for a month! He'll be back in plenty of time for the baby."

"Sure, sure. How about _marrying_ you in time for the baby?"

"Oooh, Rally, you are such a prude! No wonder you'd rather play with cars than with men!"

"I like cars. Cars do what I tell them to do! I understand cars." She opened the driver's door and slid behind the wheel of the Cobra. "Come on, get in. I'll take you to Universal Studios and then come back here to find out what I can. I'm going to have to hurry..."

"Oh, Ral! Can we stay somewhere near the speed limit this time?" May got in and buckled her seat belt.

"Oh, come on! It takes forever to get where you're going around here unless you step on it! California drivers are so _polite_—they wait and wait for the other guy to go first and no one gets anywhere."

Rally peeled away from the curb and darted into traffic, inserting herself between a pair of shiny SUVs. May lurched forward and back with the acceleration, her face beginning to turn green again. Rally checked her mirrors and stamped on the gas to pass the forward SUV.

The light at the next intersection turned red and she braked with a sigh of annoyance. "I liked the drive out here. Lots of interstates! But Los Angeles is a mess." The light changed and she roared forward again. "May, navigate for me—which freeway is it? I see some kind of on-ramp coming up..."

"Uhh...oh, I hate reading in a car!" moaned May, struggling with a large folded map. "It makes me...urrrp...uh, I think you want to take 505—no, wait, it's—"

Rally whipped into the left lane, took a turn and started up the on-ramp to the elevated freeway span. Traffic had backed up on the ramp nearly down to the street, and she had to stop at the bottom of the incline. A low guard rail along the side of the ramp to her right had lost a few spans to a sideswipe.

"Rrrr!" She rapped her fingernails on the steering wheel. "Let's get MOVING!" Traffic inched up the ramp. Rally waited for a car-length gap to develop in front of her before she let the brake out. The Cobra's engine was so powerful it tended to make the car surge forward, and she didn't want to deal with a fender-bender on top of everything else.

"Rally!" shouted May. "There he goes! It's Buff!" Rally whipped her head around to the right to see what May was pointing at, and saw a bright flash from a well-waxed car. Red, long, low. With a spoiler, and glass so thick the driver was only half-visible.

Down at street level and on the other side of the center island, he had just drawn abreast of them,. Then he changed lanes and sliced through the pack of cars he had been trailing, so quickly and neatly Rally could barely register how he had done it.

"Well, guess we missed him." May laughed and sat back. "We can't get off the on-ramp now, so we'll just have to go to—"

Rally had a six-foot gap in front of her and a missing section of guard rail to the right. The drop to the street increased as the on-ramp rose to the freeway. But it wasn't more than ten feet down—

She threw the car into gear, pulled the wheel sharply to the right and rammed the gas pedal to the floor.

"AAH!" May clapped her hands over her eyes. The Cobra shot through the gap in the guard rail, clipped the next section, rocketed off the on-ramp and went airborne. "RALLLLLY!"

The Cobra sailed over an approaching Honda and landed with a crash on all four wheels, sliding across lanes at an angle. Cars in front of her braked and skidded. Rally straightened the wheel and floored the gas again. May slid halfway off the passenger seat, her skirt up around her waist and her seat belt under her armpits. In pursuit of the red car, Rally jumped the traffic divider with more hard jolts to her suspension and gained the right-hand side of the street.

Buff took a left turn under the freeway three blocks ahead. Traffic blocked her way forward and the cars ahead stopped for a light. Rally slewed to the left, bounced up on the center island again and straddled it, racing past the stopped cars. She jumped off again to the left when a light standard popped up.

Now she was driving the wrong way, dodging cars into the left lane and approaching the intersection filled with heavy cross traffic. Rally took a hard left turn and slid the Cobra into a gap, scanning for Buff. "Damn! Where did he go?"

"Rally! Are you completely NUTS? You're going to get arrested!" May hitched herself back up on the seat and pulled her belt tight.

"Ha! There he is!" The red car was two blocks ahead, going straight in the left lane. This was a warehouse district, filled with grimy-windowed concrete and corrugated metal buildings. Buff took another left turn and then a right into a smaller street.

No sidewalks, just gravelly ruts off the pavement. The heavy traffic didn't conceal them any more—only a few cars moved up and down this street. Rally braked and pulled to the right before she passed the corner where Buff had turned, creeping along the curb. When she reached a spot between a dumpster and a parked panel truck, she braked and peered through the gap.

About thirty yards away, Buff slowed and turned around. The hair rose on the back of her neck—if he'd taken a wrong turn and came back into this street, Bean might spot her. Buff rumbled to a stop near the corner and the engine cut out. Rally quickly shut off her ignition as well, since the deep growl of the GT-500's engine was no longer camouflaged by Buff's thunderous powerplant. The driver's door opened.

One long leg, booted and blue-jeaned. A long arm, leather-jacketed and attached to a huge shoulder. His head dipped under the door frame and Bean Bandit stood up, all six foot seven of him, crowned with a thick shock of dead-black hair and a red headband.

Rally gave an involuntary shudder and drew in a sharp breath. A long time since her last sighting of Bean, and that had been an unfriendly parting. He'd probably been avoiding her as carefully as she usually avoided him. Even when they had been on good enough terms to hold casual conversations in the street, they usually met under tense circumstances: gun battles, car chases, life and death and speed in the balance. Perhaps that was why his entrance to the scene always seemed to grip her like a strong hand at her throat.

Bean took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his jacket. Even at this distance, Rally could see the sharp scowl on his face. He hadn't changed at all, except to seem even bigger and more intimidating than she remembered. Rally gulped, a strange quiver going through her. Bean's hard-edged profile and measured movements brought back vivid associations she had assumed would fade to insignificance with time.

"Geez. I think he's mad about something..." May looked a little sick.

"He looks ready to kill someone." Rally's combat senses crackled; she seized on that feeling and let it amplify to cover any other sensations less invigorating. "If he's feeling that mean, I sure hope he doesn't spot my car." She felt under her jacket and unsnapped the security strap of her shoulder holster.

"Uh, maybe we shouldn't have followed him…?"

Bean didn't look in their direction. He glanced behind him, consulted a piece of paper in his gloved hand and headed up the small street out of their line of vision. Rally let her hand fall from the butt of her gun. "He's parked for a quick getaway, you notice? He didn't want to take the chance of getting stuck in the ruts."

"Well, that sort of fits with the being ready to kill someone thing. I guess you were right—something big IS going down."

"Those guys said he was looking for a coke dealer. If he's been running drugs again, _I_ am going to kill _him_." Rally gritted her teeth, then got out of the car. "You stay here, May. I'm going to check this out."

May's big blue-green eyes looked troubled. "You really think Bean would have taken a drug run? He promised you he'd never do it again. I don't think he'd try to get out of that—I mean, I always thought he almost hoped he'd lose that bet just so he'd have an excuse to quit."

"Oh, come on! He's a goddamn crook. How could he ever change his spots?" Rally popped her trunk and took out her shotgun. "Ha! Maybe he thought I wouldn't catch him!"

"He always keeps his contracts. He takes penalties from anyone who tries to cheat him. That kind of thing's important to him, Rally!"

Rally checked her holster; the CZ75 sat snugly in its place against her ribs. Her heart beat rapidly against it, both from the adrenaline of the stunt she'd just pulled on the street and from anticipation of what might await her. "Yeah, well, it's important to me too! He gave me his word. If he thinks he can revert to his old tricks way out here in California, he's got another think coming." She hefted the shotgun and moved around the corner.

* * *

One hundred and fifty-some miles per hour: her speedometer didn't register past one hundred and forty. The Cobra wasn't even straining, though the road noise was deafening at this speed. She was well within pistol shot now, the rear of Bean's Corvette clearly visible. He'd put on a vintage black and gold California plate that certainly didn't belong to this car.

Obviously the 'Vette was superior for this longer-distance run; Buff's heavy armor plate probably reduced both its top speed and its range. Someone else had come into play, a white Lamborghini Diablo about five hundred yards ahead. Its peculiar squat shape and huge spoiler were unmistakable. Those things cost about a quarter of a million bucks. She didn't know why the guy hadn't just let Bean have the dough if he was that rich. It would have been a lot easier for him in the long run!

She coasted into bumping distance and matched Bean's speed, watching his face in his rear-view mirror. His expression was obscured by his sunglasses, but she saw him nod at her and smile into the rear-view mirror. Rally knew he must have spotted her chasing him at least fifteen minutes before, but he hadn't yet called her cell phone. She picked it up and hit the third program button.

Bean answered immediately and tucked the phone between jaw and shoulder, keeping both hands on the wheel.

"Hey, girl. Stay back. It's gonna get interesting, and I wouldn't like to bang up that pretty car of yours."

"How interesting do you mean? You planning to kill him?"

"Yep."

"That's murder!"

"Not in my book, it ain't. No man sets me up like that and lives. Hell, Vincent, I guess you saved my life." She heard a dry chuckle. "I felt the wind from that bullet kiss my cheek. Besides, he's got my money."

"Bean, I'm going to take him in. I called and the reward's a hundred thousand. Help me out, and I'll split it with you. Fifty thousand bucks!"

"He owes me ten times that, babe. Quintuple damages, or his life. He knew that."

"I heard some of the conversation. I know he has half a million with him. But it's drug money, Bean!"

"I didn't say I wouldn't take drug money. I said I wouldn't haul drugs. You oughta be flattered I'm taking so much trouble to keep my promises."

"You're splitting hairs!"

"Civilian coming up!" said Bean, and clicked off the phone. He instantly swerved to the left and revealed a Ford Taurus in the lane ahead of him. Rally followed suit and they both roared past the shocked driver, missing his rear by inches. The Diablo was only a hundred yards ahead now.

* * *

Rally looked up at the grimy facade of the warehouse that sat at the end of the small street. The only obvious entrance was the front door, and of course that was not the entrance she wanted to use.

Thirty seconds ago, Bean had walked through it and slammed it with a force that still quivered the entire building like aftershocks of an earthquake. On the right side of the warehouse was a chain-link fence, and parked in the shadow behind it sat a white Lamborghini Diablo. That might well be a drug dealer's car—a very wealthy drug dealer.

She could see a side door sitting ajar, but decided to check further. She darted into a narrow alley along the left side of the warehouse, squeezing past a rusty dumpster and piles of moldering cardboard boxes. At the back of the alley, a sagging wooden staircase clung to the building and led up to a landing at second-floor level.

Rally ran lightly up the steps and tried the door. It was locked. The small awning window next to it was broken, however. She peered through and saw a dim office, the furniture disarranged. This place hadn't been used for legitimate business in years.

Rally took off her jacket and wrapped it around her arm. Quietly she elbowed out the shards of glass until the frame was empty. She unlatched the window, opened it, put her shotgun through and grabbed the frame to boost herself up. Her slim body was a tight fit, but she got through and clambered onto a dusty desk top. She put her jacket back on—it was Kevlar-lined and she knew it was probably about to come in handy.

The office door had a dirty wire-reinforced window that she looked through before emerging. Nothing was visible except an elevated walkway that circumnavigated the building, and part of the concrete floor of the warehouse with a few empty pallets scattered across it. She opened the door, shotgun in hand, and listened for activity.

Someone was talking loudly down below, but no one was in sight. Rally slipped out and went to the outside door that led to the landing. It was dead-bolted. She shot the bolt back and set the door slightly ajar.

One escape route established. Rally crept to the railing of the elevated walkway. The loud voice continued, a deep baritone with a smoky harshness to it. It was Bean.

"...compensation, like in the contract. But after chasing you cross-country for three freakin' days, I'd rather take it out of your freakin' hide!"

Something hit a support pillar with a thunderous clatter. The walkway vibrated under Rally's feet. Bean sounded just as angry as he had looked. The sounds echoed off the concrete and the corrugated metal walls, but appeared to come from her left and at floor level.

"Be reasonable, dude. I've got the dough. I wasn't going to stiff you, right? It's all a misunderstanding, huh?" A smoother voice, with a California accent and a false friendliness.

"Bullshit."

"Hey, I got it here—put the knife away, for chrissake. My man's getting it now. You did a good job, man. You deserve it. No hard feelings, huh?"

So the dealer did owe Bean money. Rally began to creep along the walkway in the direction of the voices, trying to find a vantage point from which she could observe the conversation.

"I told you my conditions first thing. Pretty hard to misunderstand that."

"Oh, dude, they wouldn't believe me, man. I mean, the Roadbuster? He doesn't run the shit any more? Who's gonna believe me when I say that?"

"I'll be glad to explain it to them."

He hadn't broken his promise! Rally was startled at the rush of warm relief she felt. But she hugged her ten-gauge even tighter to her chest.

"Oh, man, they tell me the shit has to be in Chi-town on Wednesday and they are not whistling Dixie. And they tell me, contact the Roadbuster because he is the man, he can do it and he don't get picked up and he don't skim the goods. There is no one better—no, there is no one even in the man's class. He got to run the shit, man. They tell me, pay him what-so-ever he asks and it's a fucking bargain, man."

"Scrape the bullshit off your tongue, Brown. You can kiss my ass all you want and it ain't going to make one cent's worth of difference to this deal."

"Look, dude, here it is." A heavy thump, and the catches of a suitcase springing open. "Half a million. Five hundred Gs. Your compensation for your trouble, five times the original fee. All in used hundreds, my man. And hey, I got a bonus for you. Here's some expenses for the vacation trip. Five thousand in the envelope, dude. Find yourself some fine L.A. lady and party down, huh?"

Half a million dollars! Maybe he hadn't broken the promise, but wasn't this stretching the point? Had he only told his clients he wouldn't run drugs in order to extort a higher fee?

Rally lay prone on the cold metal and peered over the edge of the walkway. In a small pool of electric light far from the darkened windows stood one big man and two smaller ones. Bean's back was turned to her, but she could see the faces of the other two. Both in their middle to late thirties, one blond and one dark. The blond man was slim and dressed in casual Southern California expense, and the dark man wore a creased suit with sweat stains at the armpits and one button undone over his pot belly. Not fighting men. Nothing like Bean.

"Shit," said Bean, with meaning. He raised the bowie knife he held and the blond man cast a quick glance upwards, to the right and above Rally's head. Bean tossed the knife in the air and caught it again by the handle with a metallic clang. "You lied to me. Those packages were stuffed and you took me for a damn fool. I saw your man test 'em at the dropoff, and you can bet I checked it out. I know smack when I see it, asshole. And you know the penalty for breaking my contracts."

Both men swallowed hard, but stood firm. Rally began to wonder: why were they not more visibly frightened? In their place, she might have lost bladder control.

The blond one smiled and opened his hands wide. "Believe me, dude, I know you are not the man to be crossed. I told them that, huh? They told me I got to have the shit off the boat and into distribution in twenty-four. China White, man, too good to wait for. They got their own debts to pay and I don't ask what they are."

Half listening, Rally examined the dim rafters to her right. What had Brown been looking for, and what had assured him that he was not in danger? What was a good backup defense if a man knew he was about to go up against an angry Bean Bandit?

"Yeah? Either you figured I was just thick in the head, or something else is goin' on. Whatever the hell it was, you can shove those bosses of yours right up your—"

"Hey, uh, let's not get personal here. I do my job, man. I know you do your job. Hey, man, you got a family? A nice lady?"

"What?" spat Bean.

What about a sharpshooter stationed high above the meeting place? With a scope and a high-powered rifle? Rally stared hard, shielding her eyes from the bright pool of light and letting them adjust to darkness. Slowly scanning along the ceiling, she caught a movement and a glint at the darkened far end, then gradually made out a crouching figure on the rafters.

A man, compactly built and easily balanced in his precarious perch. He wore a balaclava and a dark track suit. In the crook of his right elbow, just lowered from his eye, was a long black weapon. Rally smiled, more or less in gratification.

With the greatest care and silence she could manage, she laid her shotgun flat on the catwalk and drew her CZ75 from her shoulder holster. Up against another marksman, the fine-machined accuracy of the pistol seemed more sporting than a heavy spray of buckshot. Though if she could, she would ruin the man's sharpshooting career for him. Instinctively she checked the safety and the hammer—she always kept the weapon cocked and locked with a round in the chamber, ready to fire with the flick of a lever. She eased the safety off and held the pistol ready.

What was that rifle? The outline wasn't apparent in the gloom, and the man's body blocked most of her view of the weapon. But since he was a sniper who needed perfect accuracy, to pick off one man from a group at a long distance, it might be a large-caliber hunting piece.

That would have three shots, probably .308s or a custom round like a Lazzeroni Saturn. He'd get only one good shot anyway, and the .223 rounds of an AR-15 or a similar semi-auto didn't have the stopping power of a heavy round meant for big game. Big game indeed—a .308 through Bean's head would splatter his brains twenty feet across the concrete. And if the sniper went for the easier torso shot, even Bean's flak jacket could not stop its deadly trajectory.

Brown kept up his inane patter; she turned her attention to him again. "I got a wife, dude. Yeah, me. And we got us one cute little girl, I'm telling you. I do my job for my family, because I am a family man. And they take care of me and my family as long as I do my job, you get me? I don't do my job, they don't take care of my family any more."

What did she know about this fast-talker? His name was Brown, he worked for an unspecified criminal organization, he usually ran coke but had just graduated to heroin—Rally mentally snapped her fingers. She had seen a file on this man in Chicago. The organization was a shadowy one, probably based in Asia. The FBI was trying to get information on Brown and on his employers, and certainly would appreciate it if she turned him in with half a million in drug money. He could be the biggest catch of her life.

Brown went on, touching his heart and gesturing towards Bean. "Or...they tell me they know I love my family, you know? They say, you love your family and we know you do your job for your family. So do your job, man. What-so-ever it takes. Even if you gotta get someone to take a job he told you he didn't want to do any more. Because he is the best at his job and this job is going to take the best. My little baby, man, I look in her eyes and I know I got to do my job. Huh?"

"Aw, hell." Bean's posture lost some of its tension.

Was Bean actually falling for that crap? She knew he had a soft spot for kids, but really!

"Take that case, man. And the five grand, too. That's just a present from me to you, huh? This is a fine town if you got the green to spend. Have yourself a good time before you head on home."

Bean let out a long sigh and scratched his head, as if confused at his own loss of will. "All right, Brown. I'll take it and I'll call it square."

Of course, he could just have remembered he liked money better than anything else, including revenge. The sniper in the rafters still held his rifle at the ready, though his body had relaxed slightly.

The crisis was over—Bean wasn't set on murder. Now, how could she bag both Brown and the money? First that rifle had to be taken out of commission. The CZ's tapered grip settled firmly into the palm of her hand, the crisp edge of the trigger denting the flesh of her right forefinger.

Bean sheathed his knife, put the envelope in his jacket and gestured for the second man to close the case, then picked it up. "But you tell those bosses of yours that the Roadbuster is not hauling any more drug shipments. That don't mean I do it for a higher price. That means I don't do it at all."

"Your funeral, dude—hey, figure of speech, huh? Take care."

Bean only grunted. He turned to go, and Brown shot a glare up into the rafters. The sniper instantly snapped his weapon into position, peered through his scope, and tracked Bean with the muzzle as he moved out of line with the other two men. Brown made a fist, the sniper's shoulders rose with a deep breath—

_KRAK_ exploded Rally's CZ75. A 9+Pmm round whizzed into the rafters just as the rifle kicked back with a heavy report and a blinding muzzle flash.

Rally's dark-adapted eyes were momentarily dazzled, her whole body tingling from the pistol's recoil. Someone yelled—the sniper. Had she hit her intended target—his trigger finger?

The rifle round kicked up shards of concrete from the floor a yard from Bean. She'd spoiled his aim, at any rate. From the sound, a .308. The sniper vanished from his perch. Down below Bean whirled towards Brown and his companion. His right hand flicked out from his chest to release two blurs of steel.

The men ran for the darkened back of the warehouse and an interior staircase that led to the elevated walkway. The second man stumbled on the first step, the handle of a throwing knife protruding from his calf.

Bean followed, bowie knife in one hand and suitcase in the other. Brown had made it halfway up the staircase. He stopped and turned, scanning the rafters with a snarl of real fear on his face.

Bean stepped over the fallen man and started up the steps. Rally holstered the pistol, brought up the shotgun, aimed at his skull and shouted as loud as she could.

"Freeze it, both of you! You're under arrest!" Bean jerked in surprise and started to turn towards her voice. Brown reached under his jacket and around to the small of his back.

Out came a snub-nosed .44 magnum revolver. Rally quickly switched her aim, finger tightening on the shotgun's trigger, but Brown grabbed the stair railing and vaulted over it, scrambling under the steps and out of view.

Bean instantly took the same vault, landing with a crash beside the stairs. Before he could straighten, the .44 spoke loudly.

Bean flung up an arm to protect his head. Rally could not get a clear shot at Brown from his position under the stairs. She ran along the walkway towards the stairs, trying to find a vantage point. Bean was still in her line of fire.

The .44 crashed again and again, Bean staggering under its hammer blows but not falling. He dropped the suitcase, arms crossed over his face, scraps of leather and Kevlar flying as the heavy slugs battered his armor.

Rally reached the staircase and clattered partway down it, her heart beating like cannon fire. Brown emerged from cover, still shooting. He kicked the case out of Bean's reach and backed towards it, squeezing off one more round that hit Bean square in the stomach, then took his fifth shot at Rally as she leveled the shotgun at him.

She ducked and the bullet whistled over her head. Bean grabbed the stair railing for support, gasping for breath. Brown fired at him again and missed. Six shots—his gun was empty! Brown popped the cylinder and let the brass fall, reaching into a pocket for a quickloader.

BOOM! The ten-gauge spoke loudly and Rally shot the revolver out of Brown's right hand. The gun skidded away in a shower of blood and bits of bone and flesh. He screamed in pain, several fingers gone, but scooped up the suitcase with his left hand. Rally pumped the shotgun and got him in her sights. He froze, clinging to the handle and half crouched over. The fallen man had curled into a ball and wasn't moving.

"Drop that case, Brown! Hands up!" shouted Rally. A wild smile on her face, her breasts heaving with excitement, she took a step down and reached for her handcuffs.

WHIZZ—SPANNNGG! The stair rail suddenly indented right by her hip. The sniper was back in action!

Rally blasted another shell in his direction, but had to dive under the stairs when she saw the black muzzle up in the rafters pointing directly at her.

Brown grabbed the case and ran for his life, followed by the other man hopping on his good leg. Bean lunged at him.

WHIZZ—WHACK! Concrete fragments leaped high as Bean hit the floor and rolled. He left a trail of blood—he'd been shot!

Rally frantically pumped the shotgun. The sniper had fired three times. Could he be reloading now? She jumped out and looked for him, then shrieked and jumped back under cover just in time.

BKAM BKAM BKAM went the rifle without a breath of hesitation, gouging the floor inches from Bean, who scrambled to get under the stairs. He nearly knocked Rally out of the narrow space.

"Hey! I got here first!" WHIZZ—SPANNNGG!

"How the hell did you get here at all? You miss me when I'm gone?"

"Dream on!"

Brown and the other man scrambled through a side door to the alley where the Diablo had been parked. WHIZZ—SPANNNGG! She peered around the end of one step and tried to draw a bead on the sniper as he continued to fire, bouncing slugs off the steps inches from her face.

That wasn't a hunting rifle—it was a semi-auto assault rifle with a large magazine, and a damnably accurate one. Bean knotted a bandanna tightly around his thigh, his teeth set in an intense grimace as blood spurted under his fingers. "How bad is that?"

"Straight through, pretty clean." His hands and the leg of his jeans were drenched in blood. "He ain't firin' hollow points—lucky me!"

WHIZZ—WHACK! Rally jerked back. A round zipped between riser and tread, burying itself in the concrete between them. "Damn it! He's got us pinned like butterflies!" An engine started in the alley and a car squealed away. Brown was escaping!

"He's gonna run out of bullets."

"Not any time soon! Brown's getting away!"

"Tell me what the hell I can do about it!" Bean finished tying his field dressing, tried to stand, and fell on one knee. WHIZZ—SPANNNGG! "Shit, I shoulda killed him when I had a chance."

"No chance, Bean. That guy up there had your head in his sights the whole time!" WHIZZ—WHACK!

"RAALLYY!" shouted a girlish voice from the elevated walkway. "EYES!"

"Oh, God, May!" Rally gasped. "Bean, shut your eyes!" Both of them ducked and covered, knowing full well what was coming. One of May's special flash grenades!

BOMF! The white-hot light of burning magnesium cast the shadow of her interlaced fingers against her retinas. Rally heard a hoarse shout from above and sprang up with the shotgun trained on the rafters. Where was the sniper? She thought she saw a movement and let fly. BOOM!

Bean rolled out from under the stairs and to his feet, bowie knife held handle-foremost. His arm lashed back and forward. The knife spiraled past her ear and through the latticework of spans. It hit nothing but the far wall.

"Where the hell is he? May!" May was jumping up and down on the walkway, pointing at the other side of the warehouse and a high open window.

"Shoot, Rally, shoot! He's—" BOOM! Rally emptied the shotgun where May pointed, but saw nothing. "Oh, he's gooone!"

"But he was BLIND! Shit, he's fast!" Rally felt a rush of wind behind her as Bean took off running towards the front door, his injured leg giving him an ungainly gait. Still, he crossed the warehouse in a few seconds and slammed through the door, still running. "Bean! Goddammit, I've got something to say—" He was gone as well. Rally sprinted towards the door, May sliding down the staircase behind her.

They ran out into the street in time to see Buff's door slam and Bean gun it so hard the tires skidded on the hot asphalt. He peeled out the way he had come, roared around the corner and vanished. Only a basso growl, rapidly fading, remained of the Roadbuster.

"Come on, May!" They ran to the Cobra and Rally leaped into the driver's seat. "We can catch—May?"

Her friend wobbled on the sidewalk, put a hand over her rounded midsection, dropped to her knees, and lost one bean burrito and a Mexican soda into the gutter. She smiled weakly at Rally, and collapsed.

* * *

"Goddamn it, Bean! STOP IT!" Rally yelled, though he couldn't possibly hear her. SQUEEEEEEAL! sang her tires as she swerved from left lane to centerline to head him off, trying to get between him and the speeding Diablo. "I am NOT going to let you kill him!"

She could see Bean's set teeth in her side-view mirror, large as life. Rally slewed the wheel right and left, fishtailing her rear end and bashing the driver's side of the Corvette. "That's just a warning! I'm going to force him to stop—I don't want you forcing him to CRASH!"

Bean moved to the right to avoid her, then suddenly hit his brakes and dove in behind her. The three cars, moving at about a hundred and twenty miles per hour, tore past a semitrailer moving at sixty-five. Now they were in single file: the white Diablo in the lead, Rally's blue Cobra second, Bean taking the rear in his black Corvette.

The right lane looked clear now as far ahead as she could see. Rally stomped on the gas and bumped the Diablo, gesturing to him to pull over. The driver wasn't visible through the tinted windows; it was impossible even to tell how many people were in the car. A Diablo had only two seats, however, the rear of the passenger compartment taken up by the huge engine, which left only a shelf below the tiny rear window. It couldn't be Brown at the wheel, not with his injured hand. Perhaps the other man she'd seen at the warehouse was driving and the sniper wasn't with them.

Whoever it was had a good sense of combat driving. When he'd spotted Rally and Bean coming up on his tail, he'd let them approach, then changed lanes and braked, leaving them ahead of him. They hadn't stayed there long, but it had been a good try. They were not up against an amateur—that was, _she_ was not up against an amateur, Rally reminded herself. She and Bean both wanted to stop that car. Aside from that, their purposes did not intersect.

The Diablo accelerated again, leaping forward in a white cloud of exhaust to avoid the Cobra. But although a Diablo's speed might top 200 miles per hour on a good day, the driver seemed unable to break away—the long chase had apparently overstressed the engine.

The road began to climb the shoulder of a slight hill, rising up above the surrounding fields by about twenty feet. The Corvette tore around the Cobra and slipped into the gap behind the Diablo.

Rally growled in frustration. "Bean, you bastard!" But her adrenaline was pumping, her excitement at fever heat again.

CRASH went the Corvette's front end into the Diablo's rear. The car shuddered, but the driver straightened it out and pulled away from the edge of the embankment.

Now there was a up-slope on the left side of the road where it met the approaching hills. On the right, the embankment grew steeper and steeper. Any vehicle taking a spill down that at the speed they were going wouldn't have much room for survival.

Bean wedged the Corvette to the left side of the Diablo, trying to force it over to the right. Obviously he meant to send it down the embankment. Rally roared up to the right side of the Diablo as a barrier and scraped its side, rear-view mirrors cracking together.

The passenger side window went down and she looked into a face—a masked face protruding sideways. Despite the heat, the man wore a balaclava. The sniper! He must be perched on the shelf behind the passenger seats. She rolled down her own window and shouted above the tremendous rush of wind.

"Pull over! I'll persuade Bean to deal and nobody has to get hurt!"

Her answer was a round black muzzle thrust from the Diablo. Instantly she braked and let the car pull ahead as the rifle cracked.

The round passed over her hood. Bean bashed the Diablo's rear again. She was parallel to him now and saw him glance over at her with the same set-toothed snarl. He made a frustrated gesture, then changed it to a pointing forefinger. Miming a pistol, he jerked the finger at the Diablo while looking at her.

Rally grimaced. Shooting out the tires might be the only way to stop the chase. But at this spot in the road, it would probably be fatal for the occupants. There was no place to pull over safely with an exploded tire—it was a choice of up the slope and a flip on the roof, or down the embankment with a barrel roll.

Of course that was exactly what he had in mind. But dead, Brown would be no good to the FBI. She shook her head at Bean.

Suddenly the Diablo slewed into the right lane. Another semitrailer in the left lane ahead! Trying to pass a slower flatbed loaded with hay, it wheezed up the hill at about sixty, a brick wall in their path. The hay truck was still ahead of the semi, with a thirty-foot gap slowly closing between the two. Bean accelerated, trying to slip ahead of the Cobra before he had to move to the right. Rally blocked him and he blasted his horn at her.

"Ha!" she yelled. "Make all the noise you want!"

Bean made a feint at her, slewing his nose to the right, but she held firmly parallel to the Corvette. If he got ahead of her while the Diablo was still in the right lane next to the embankment, she could not prevent him from sending it over the edge.

She wasn't going to let him do anything of the kind! If she could hold him where he was for just a moment longer, she could slip between the trucks just before the gap closed and follow the Diablo. Bean was going to have to brake like hell to keep from plowing into the semi! Rally grinned in triumph, foot to the metal. He'd lose so much momentum that she'd be able to leave him a mile behind—

The Corvette veered to the left and leaped forward. Rally gasped in horrified surprise. He couldn't pass the truck on the eighteen-inch-wide shoulder! Was he insane?

But the Corvette lurched with its left-hand wheels on the up-slope, climbed the road cut and threw a storm of gravel. He WAS insane! And he was the best. Rally's thighs twitched, muscles clenching with the sheer thrill of the ride. If he could keep traction on loose rock with his car at a seventy-five degree angle, he would pass the semi and drop to the left side of the Diablo.

The white car was still in the right lane behind the hay truck, the driver obviously not expecting Bean's stunt. Rally gunned her engine to pass the semi on the right, the Corvette out of her line of vision now. Could she cut Bean off? The Diablo braked and held position just ahead of the semi, but still in the right lane, blocking the Cobra.

Rally hit her own brakes. Why wasn't the driver moving through the gap to the relatively safer left lane?

SCRAAAAPE went Bean's undercarriage, and he dropped down to the road in front of the truck just as the Diablo's bunker-slit rear window exploded from an inside blow.

The rifle aimed directly at Rally. To the left side was the semi, to the left ahead was Bean, to the right was the steep drop. Pinned like a target to a wall!

She hit her brakes and fishtailed wildly for a moment. The Cobra shuddered and fell back; Bean slewed to the right to bash the Diablo and the rifle tracked to the left.

The muzzle flashed, clearly visible in the growing gloom. Rally saw Bean's windshield shatter and his head snap back. His right front tire blew out simultaneously with a second muzzle flash. The Corvette skidded and turned broadside to her; she desperately yanked on the parking brake and pulled the wheel to the left.

Her right front hit his right rear, their bumpers locked in a death spiral, and Corvette and Cobra cleared the road together, a moment spent weightless in clear air before they hurtled down the embankment in tumbling, deafening, final embrace.

* * *

"Becky, just put it on the account! I can't send you the cash electronically—I'm in California, for heaven's sake! I'm calling from the hotel."

May retched into the toilet again, and Rally handed her a fresh washcloth.

"A thousand bucks? Look, I'm giving you free info here—would you have known Bean Bandit is in Hollywood without my telling you?" Rally grabbed a pad and pen out of her purse. "You did? How? Whaddya mean, that'll cost extra?"

May sat back on the bath mat and held her stomach. Rally gave her a glass of water and flushed the toilet.

"That's May. She's got morning sickness. Yes, I know it's afternoon here! 2:18 P.M., to be precise! Is that gonna cost extra too?" Rally sat on the bathroom counter and looked into the mirror, probing a small cut she had incurred on her forehead during the firefight. "How about six hundred?" She decided the cut was probably from a flying shard of concrete. "So your information about Bean is something I might like to know, huh? Throw that in with what you know about Brown and I'll consider it."

May got up and wobbled out of the bathroom.

"Eight hundred for both, Becky. I don't know if I can get Brown! I can't cut percentages here—is there even a bounty on him?" Rally began to strip off her shorts and T-shirt. "May, you gonna be worshiping the porcelain god any more? I want to take a shower!"

"No," said May faintly.

"OK, it's a deal. Now tell me everything you have." Rally listened attentively, jotting notes on the pad. "Wow, that much? Not bad. This is an FBI reward? How did a white guy end up working for an Asian syndicate, anyway? Uh-huh... And the American HQ is where? Hmm. Would he be heading up that way? Driving, probably...he's armed and he couldn't take a plane! Let's see, it's about six hours to San Francisco from here, if you don't break the limit by more than ten or fifteen...ha, if I leave now, I could catch up to him! Assuming he's driving carefully so he won't be pulled over—no, wait, he won't be the driver, so he must have his boys along. Never mind why, unless you give me a discount! Now, what's this about Bean?"

May stuck her head in the bathroom door. "San Francisco? There aren't any good amusement parks up there! Great America is so podunk!"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh...whoa, that's interesting! Wonder what he'd say if he knew that! Say, how much of this DOES he know? Hey, I'd say that was included in the price! So give." Rally listened for a moment, then shot upright and shrieked into the phone. "He DID? WHEN? Five minutes ago? Holy SHIT! I gotta RUN! Thanks, Becky!" She clicked the phone off and jammed it into her purse.

"What's going on?"

"May, I'm going to San Francisco. There's a hundred grand riding on it!" She finished stripping and leaped into the shower, turning it on at the same time. "Aaah! That's COLD!"

"You mean a reward for Brown?"

"Yep! And I didn't say so to Becky, but that suitcase of cash could be worth a lot too, if I can get my hands on it!"

"You want that half-million? Ooh, Rally, you could get—"

"I'm going to turn it in to the FBI, if I get it. And if Brown will sing, they are going to love me for it, honey!" Rally stuck her head out from behind the shower curtain. "Wouldja grab me my professional outfit? I have to get out of here as soon as possible—every second is going to count!"

"I'll get dressed too! You're going to need my expertise—these guys are dangerous!"

"No way, Minnie-May. You stay right here. I'll only be gone a day or so."

"What? I've got to come along!"

"May..." Rally stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. "I've already exposed you to enough danger for one day. That baby—" she put her hand on May's stomach— "deserves special handling. You can't do hazardous duty any more."

May dropped her head. "No...I guess not."

"Aw, don't look so down. You can rent a car and go anywhere you want while I'm gone!"

"I don't want to go anywhere while you're gone. I want to go with you!"

"I know. I wish you could come. But I'd just worry about you and Junior, honey. Please?" Rally dropped the towel and headed out into the bedroom, grabbing her jacket out of the closet on the way. "I need to get dressed—he's probably already on the road."

"Who is? Brown?"

"Bean Bandit." Rally strapped on her slide-mounted .25 automatic, then put on her bra. "He called Becky five minutes before I did."

"Bean uses Becky too?"

"Why shouldn't he? She's the best information broker in Chicago. I suppose he tried to catch Brown right off, but couldn't find him. Then he would have had to get treatment for that gunshot wound—he was bleeding like a pig. So he's not too far ahead of me." Rally pulled on her panties and hose, then picked up her short black skirt. "Where's my spare-magazine holster? Oh, there you are, you nifty little thing..."

"If he knows where Brown is heading, you'll run into him again. Rally..."

"Hmm?" Rally strapped the magazine holster around her thigh and pulled her skirt down over it, then buttoned her blouse.

"Be careful. You know he isn't a guy you can mess with."

"I know." She put on her shoulder holster and snapped the strap over her CZ75 9-millimeter Parabellum automatic. "I'm ready for anything." Her jacket went on over the holster, and she grabbed her purse and keys.

In the mirror over the dresser, she saw her image: tall, slim, tawny-skinned, her dark-brown hair dancing around her face as she turned. "That's a girl he'll have to reckon with." She made a pistol with forefinger and thumb and sighted on her own nose in the mirror. "Bang, bang."

"I'll see you soon?"

"Maybe by this evening! Have a good time." Rally headed for the door.

"I'll try." May sniffled slightly.

"Hey, cheer up! What could happen?" Rally smiled brightly and waved goodbye.

"Almost anything," said May as the door closed. "Almost anything."


	2. Chapter 2

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Two**

"That's the end of them, then," said the smallest of the three. He pulled off his balaclava, wiped the sweat-wet rusty hair from his forehead and let his face droop onto his rifle stock for a moment. "Damn, I thought sure I'd miss; it's such a cramp up here in back."

"I couldn't see," hissed Brown from the passenger seat. "Did you shoot him or her?"

"Him. Blew out his windshield and a tire, but I don't think I hit the man himself. He lost control for a second and that was all it took for the wee bitch to paste him good."

"Whatta sight," said the driver. "Boom! Too bad about the cars, though. I ain't seen a GT-500 in years, and he sure had some ass-kicking powerplant in that—"

"Stop! Go back!" Brown shouted. "Tom, get out a grenade. We've got to make sure he's dead!"

"'Scuse me, boss, but seeing as this is a public highway, there's witnesses," the driver said in a reasonable tone. "We'd better just get the hell out of here, unless you want Tom to start shootin' families in minivans."

The smallest man cackled, as if this had struck him as an amusing idea.

"Oh, Christ." Brown slumped in his seat. He held his bandaged right arm tightly to his chest, his face pale and grey in spite of the heat inside the crowded cabin. "All right. Fine. We're still screwed from both ends. Let's get me to a hospital. Can you turn on the damn air now? I'm sweating like a pig."

The driver grunted, rolling down the windows. "Won't do any good with the three of us in here, boss. This little number wasn't designed for a battle wagon, that's for sure."

"Got it for the looks, not the combat value," said Brown faintly. "But I thought we could outrun him in a Diablo...I hit 210 on the way to Vegas once with my wife until she begged me to slow down..."

"Yeah? For a coupla minutes? It's only been in the shop most of the time you've had it," said the driver affectionately. "'Fraid it won't outrun anyone today."

He pointed at the temperature gauge on the Diablo's dash. "I hate to run down Italian engineering, boss, but I think it's fried. I could barely get a hundred per outta her after the Grapevine. I'm not going over the limit now and I'm still in the red zone. Mr. Lamborghini never had anything like this drive in mind—we shoulda taken the Range Rover."

"Yeh'll get no argument from me," said the smallest man, struggling to arrange himself on the shelf below the tiny rear window, the wind singing loudly through the broken glass in the slit.

"I'm sorry about this, boys..." said Brown, his voice fading. "Sorry."

"Nothin' to apologize for," said the smallest man. "Well, maybe my achin' back..."

"I may have something to apologize for soon...when he catches up with us."

"What?" scoffed the driver. "Both of 'em down that embankment? No one's gonna be catching up with us!" He adjusted his rear-view mirror. "Lookie that, boss. I think I see smoke!"

"Bean Bandit..." muttered Brown. "You saw how he took four magnum slugs at close range? All that his armor stops is the penetration, not the impact of the bullet. It must have felt like a pile-driver to the belly. He never fell, never even cried out from the pain." He adjusted his position in the reclined seat, grey face sweating. "So he's rolled down a rocky slope at sixty miles per hour. I did enough research to know a little setback like this isn't going to stop him."

"If you say so, boss," said the driver.

The smallest man rolled over and popped the magazine from his rifle. "Don't yeh worry, Mr. Brown. I'll take care of him, and the wee bitch too."

"Rally Vincent," said Brown, his face taking on a slight flush. He hugged his right arm close to himself again. "Tom, if you've any of that left, I could use a little more." The smallest man dug in a pocket of his fatigues and brought out a small packet of white powder.

Brown accepted it and tapped a one-inch streak of the powder out on the back of his left hand. He snorted it quickly and lay back. "Rally Vincent...I called Smith for some more info just before we left. She's a licensed bounty hunter from Chicago. Age twenty-one though she claims a couple of years more—it's hard to remember being that young. An expert shot and an excellent driver...though not in Bandit's league. Perhaps we should be grateful she got in his way..."

"Yeah," said the smallest man, grinning with yellow teeth. "I got just the way t' thank 'er." He thrust .308 rounds from a cargo pocket of his fatigues into the detached magazine until it was full and replaced it with a solid, greased click of metal on metal.

"Oh, I don't know, Tom," said Brown with a reviving smile. "That seems a bit cavalier to me..."

* * *

"God damn you to hell, Bean Bandit," muttered Rally, one hand to her throbbing head. "If you're dead, it's your own stinking fault, you certifiable son of a bitch..." 

She released her driver's harness, slid from the battered Cobra and fell into a patch of dry grass and thistles. Her vision wobbled and swam. The sky seemed dark—of course, it was evening, so perhaps it really was dark.

Rally crawled forward and away from the car, which ticked and crackled as the hot metal cooled. Her hands sank into a damp patch of ground at the edge of a field and she stopped. She couldn't see any buildings. Nothing but endless straight plowed rows and irrigation equipment, fading into dusky distance and rising ground fog. A dim bluish change at the eastern horizon marked the peaks of the southern Sierra Nevada. A bit of warm light on the highest clouds was the last evidence of the sun. Talk about the middle of nowhere...

Thistles pricked her knees and she tried to stand up, succeeding after a couple of tries. Her dazed mind couldn't focus. How had she managed to land upright and with the car relatively intact? Her memory of the last thirty seconds had scattered like shards of a exploded windshield...

She looked up the slope to the road as small rocks pattered down the incline, apparently freshly dislodged. No sign of the Diablo.

"Unngghh..." said someone nearby. Rally looked dazedly around. The black Corvette lay on its roof to her right.

"Not in hell yet, I guess..." she said, then gasped, her thoughts suddenly clarifying. "Oh, God, Bean!" She grabbed a flashlight from the Cobra and ran over to the Corvette, stumbling on clods of clay. "Bean, are you hurt? Were you shot? Are you OK?"

"Ohhh...shit..." moaned Bean.

The Corvette was a disaster. Both axles broken, drive train mangled, windows gone, splintered body panels and glass scattered from the top of the slope to its resting place. The rear, stripped of fiberglass, sat up on a dislodged boulder at a thirty-degree angle. The top had been crushed down to the doors on the passenger side and only a little less so on the driver's side.

Rally crouched in the grass, put her head under the hood and peered through the narrow gap of the vanished windshield into Bean's upside-down face. He'd lost his sunglasses and his arms hung limply. Expression pained and a little shell-shocked, he had his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open.

"Bean!"

His eyes opened slowly, squinting at the flashlight beam, and he gave her a crooked grin. "Hey, girl. How's yer car?"

"Hey!" shouted someone from the road above. "Did that asshole get killed? Christ, he rolled three or four times...!" It was a bearded man in a trucker's cap.

"No, he's alive! Please help me get him out!" Rally jumped up and nearly stepped on Bean's sunglasses where they lay on the ground.

"I called in on my CB." The trucker pointed north up the road. "There oughta be somebody here in a while." He started down the slope, skidding on the rocks.

"In a while? Don't they have paramedics around here?"

"Hey, lady, you are a hundred miles from anywhere. This isn't the best spot for causing accidents!" The trucker clambered down the rest of the way and jogged heavily over to the Corvette. "What the fuck were you doing, anyway? This crazy motherfucker passed me on the _road cut!_ I about spoiled my drawers when I saw him!"

Bean could be heard chuckling, then coughed. Rally crouched down again and saw a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, running down into one nostril. "Oh shit...Bean, how bad are you hurt?"

He made a face. "I'm OK. Don't much like hanging upside down, but I'm not dyin'." He spat out some blood and wiped his lips; apparently he had bitten the inside of his cheek when the car had rolled. Bean threw his body to one side and rocked the car slightly.

"That's not going to work! Unfasten your seat belt." Bean laughed and reached up, wrenching at the catch. Like Rally, he had a full race driver's harness that had saved him from ejection.

"Turn off your ignition, mister," said the trucker urgently. "I smell gas."

"Oh no—" Rally sniffed the air. "Bean, hurry up!"

"Yeah, like she said. Lady, your boyfriend here is a goddamn motherfucking idiot, pardon me, but I don't wanna watch him burn to death any more than the next man." The trucker got on all fours, then lay on his beer gut and reached his hands out to Bean through the windshield gap. "Got that ignition off? Good. Now get unstrapped and get your arms out here." Bean undid the catch and slipped a few inches downwards, stopping himself with his hands. "Can you get your legs out from under the dash?"

"Kinda jammed..." Bean took a deep breath and strained to free himself, his thigh muscles knotting under his jeans. Rally flashed her light at the side of the car and saw gasoline streaming, forming a puddle in the grass.

She scrambled up and ran back to the Cobra. From her glove compartment she grabbed a small fire extinguisher. If a spark exploded the gas tank, the little thing would do no good at all. But it was all she had. She put it down in Bean's line of vision and piled clods of clay into the growing puddle to soak up gasoline.

"Gonna give a heave now," said the trucker. "Ready?" He had his hands locked with Bean's and his feet against the window frame. Rally grabbed him around the waist for more leverage. "Go!"

Bean pushed, the trucker pulled, and Rally threw all her weight backwards. The car dragged forward an inch or so. "Go!"

Again they tried to pull Bean free, and again the car moved slightly. The rear scraped along the rock on which it sat, the exposed steel striking sparks. Tiny orange seeds of fire leaped into the twilight.

Rally stared in horror as the gasoline-soaked dry grass gave them fertile ground. In a bare second, fire bloomed up the side of the ruined Corvette.

"Bean! It's burning!" She let go of the trucker's fat belly and seized the little fire extinguisher. It had a pin, which she pulled out, and the trigger depressed easily. A little cloud of CO2 mist emerged, and the fire shrank back. A moment of relief—and then the little cloud faded away. The fire leaped up, the tire beginning to catch.

Rally kicked up dirt and threw it, burying the flames as quickly as she could. She felt a sense of urgency but her own actions seemed glacially slow. The fire writhed lazily away from her efforts at suppression, reddening the 'Vette's glossy black paint until it resembled blistering skin. In the encroaching darkness, the light grew more and more intense.

"Oh, holy Jesus Christ have mercy..." the trucker muttered. She heard a low growl from the front of the car—Bean's voice.

"Die!" she ordered the fire. "Die die die..."

The growl repeated, louder. Bean had let go of the trucker's hands and she saw his arms emerge from the narrow gap of the driver's window. His palms and forearms flattened against the dirt.

"Gimme a hand, babe," he said. "You at the rear, Bubba at the front. Get ready to roll her over."

"_Roll_ it _over?_ You are fucking delusional," said the trucker. "May God have mercy on your miserable motherfucking soul."

"I'll count three," said Bean. "One." Rally slid her sleeves over her hands and grabbed the rear bumper, which was getting hot. The trucker seized the edge of the engine compartment, shaking his head.

"Two." The fire lit Bean's arms on the ground, glinting off the smooth black leather of his armored jacket—he'd changed to a new, unscarred one, Rally noticed irrelevantly. He'd cheated death a few hours ago only to come to this...

"Three!" Rally pushed with all her strength. The trucker let out a shout. Bean's arms seemed to swell with muscular energy. His elbows began to straighten, the car began to tilt.

Rally's vision went dark with effort. But it suddenly brightened with a great flash of roaring fire, the gasoline pooled under the car responding to the rush of new oxygen. Heat buffeted her away and she rolled on the ground.

Through the veil of writhing orange she saw the trucker still straining at the front of the car as it slowly rose off the ground. Bean gave voice to a sound like the damned.

Rally shot upright and dodged the flames to run to the trucker's side and push. She saw Bean's face through the windshield, his expression unrecognizably twisted with ultimate effort, only his palms still braced on the ground. He was going to lose all leverage when the car rose higher, and then it would surely fall again, fall into flame, and he would fall with it.

She'd consigned him to hell a few minutes before—

Rally screamed in anguish, her wish about to come true before her eyes. "BEEEAN!"

He gave one last heave, his hands clearing the ground. She felt the gravity shift, knew the car was about to crash on its roof again, and then saw him throw himself violently to the side.

For a moment the car poised in delicate balance, hovering between life and death, and then Bean flung himself forward, hands out the windshield. His elbows hit the ground, his joints flexed, and the car heaved over with a trembling crash, lying on the passenger side.

Bean locked his hands against the car's crushed ceiling and threw his chest out, popping the roof up by a foot. Fire licked hungrily through the now-open back window. He heaved on the dash, wrenched each leg loose in turn, then reached out through the windshield. Rally took one arm and the trucker the other, Bean launched himself through the windshield, and they pulled him clear as flames claimed the interior.

All three of them fell in a heap. The trucker got up on all fours and scrambled. Bean lay half over Rally, his eyes closed and his chest heaving in hard, slow, deep pants. All her muscles had turned to water. She could do nothing but lie there with his face pressed to hers and clods jabbing her in the back, his weight crushing her heart. For some reason, her arms had fallen around his neck.

"Fucking, fucking, fucking miracle, Jesus fucking Christ and all his blessed fucking angels..." said the trucker, sitting up near them with his hands on his knees. "Bastard's got the strength of Hercules." He burst into tears.

The Corvette made its own funeral pyre. They watched the fiberglass scorch and finally ignite: Rally sitting in her Cobra, the trucker leaning on her hood, Bean standing fifteen feet from the roaring flames with legs spread and arms crossed, silhouetted in the full darkness. Four or five cars stopped on the shoulder above to sightsee. A fire truck finally arrived when the fire was almost dead and the frame housed only scorched seat springs and the blackened engine.

"Goddammit," said Bean. "I put forty-eight hundred bucks into that car last year."

* * *

"Lady, it's closed. It's Sunday night, for crying out loud. And this is not Los Angel-ees, where for all I know they _do_ have twenty-four-hour repair shops. It's Buttonkettle. Buttonkettle, California, which has eight restaurants and two motels and one auto repair shop. You are just gonna have to wait until tomorrow morning. Ten A.M. Or maybe eleven, depending on when Ralph decides to get up and come down to open." 

"Can't you tow it somewhere I CAN get it fixed? Look, all it really needs is a new oil pan—it can get done in a few hours! Come on." Rally patted the hood of her Cobra as the tow operator unhitched it from his rig. She bent and soothed the scraped bumper with her hand, then dropped a kiss on the chrome. "Poor baby...Mama will make it all better!"

The tow operator looked at his watch. "Lady, it's ten-thirty in the P.M. There is no other place that can do an old car like this one nearer than Bakersfield. And I am not towing this heap to Bakersfield, 'cause it would take me all night and you are not gonna find anything open anyhow and I'm going home. I'm dead beat. Winching this pile of junk up that embankment was the worst job I've had in months and I hope I don't ever have to do that again, 'specially not in the dark with a crazy broad yelling at me to be careful and not bang it up any more even though it's gotta be thirty years old and looks ripe for a wrecker, and you owe me two hundred and fifty bucks, payable right now and in cash, no credit cards accepted." He held out his hand.

"Oh, for..." Rally shot a glare at Bean, who had jumped down out of the tow-truck cab and stood under the harsh security light of the repair shop's parking lot. He gave no sign of having heard. Rally fumbled with her wallet and came up with a book of traveler's checks. There were two hundred and eighty dollars left, all in twenty-dollar denominations, and she began to sign them and tear them off the book with steadily increasing force. The tow operator took them with a sigh, folding them up one by one. "That's $240. Do you have ten bucks for change?"

"Nope. How about your boyfriend?" The tow operator nodded his head at Bean.

"He is NOT my boyfriend," said Rally, loudly. "He is—uh..." Bean turned to look at her, insects buzzing in the light beam over his head. Although it was night, he had put his sunglasses back on and his mirrored gaze showed her nothing but a distorted reflection of her own face.

"I don't have change, lady. Call it a tip."

Rally signed one more check and handed it over with a growl. "Fine. For ten bucks extra, you can give me a ride across the freeway to the motels. I assume they DO take plastic, because otherwise I guess I'm going to sleep in a booth at the Taco Bell." She folded up the one remaining twenty-dollar traveler's check and put it back in her wallet with the three one-dollar bills it already held.

"Sure, get in." The tow operator climbed into his seat. "What about your boyfriend?"

"He is NOT—"

Bean got in beside her again and slammed the passenger door. They rode in sullen silence, Bean's long thigh pressing against hers in the cramped cab. The tow operator pulled up in the parking lot of a Motel 6 and let them out. After the truck drove off, they stood immobile for a few moments in the chilly night air, staring out at I-5. A _Vacancy_ sign blinked over their heads as a steady, if sparse, stream of headlights whisked by going north. Bean put up his jacket collar and folded his arms. Rally gave his profile the evil eye until he turned to look at her.

"What the hell are you hanging around me for, _Bean Bandit?_ Haven't you done enough for one day?"

"Haven't _I_ done enough?"

"You ruined my vacation. You turned up out of a clear blue sky—well, a smoggy blue sky—and now instead of going to an amusement park, having a good dinner with my best friend and sleeping in a nice hotel in Hollywood, I'm standing in a cheap motel parking lot with _you_, in the middle of nowhere, the middle of the night, with a wrecked car and almost no cash. And I'm hungry."

"So buy something to eat." He jerked his head at a row of fast-food restaurants and coffee shops across the street. The entire town sat here on a hill above the freeway—about four blocks in extent and consisting of nothing but service businesses for I-5 travelers. No one lived here—they only pumped gas, cleaned rooms, or slung hash. She had the choice of eight different fast-food outlets and greasy spoons. Rally wrinkled her nose.

"I'm not hungry."

"Make up your mind."

"Oh, shut up! I don't answer to you! It's none of your goddamn business what I do or where I go!"

"But you think it's your goddamn business what _I_ do, don't ya? You've been chasing me all freakin' day!"

"Excuse me, but the last time I checked, you were a _criminal_! I've been trying to stop crimes from being—"

"So why not call the cops if you're such a good goddamn citizen? What's the deal with always getting in my way up close and personal?" He took off his sunglasses and leaned down with an aggressive jut to his jaw.

"Getting in your way! When you're trying to KILL a carload full of people!"

"You mean the ones who tried to shoot me dead? I got a right to self-defense."

"Murdering them later isn't self-defense! We could have stopped them! I could have turned them in to—"

"You could have scored a hundred K for Brown, huh?" Bean snickered.

"And you were chasing half a million in drug money! You're a fine one to talk about financial incentives!"

Bean gave her a hard stare, unnervingly sharp in the cold light of the parking lot. "Don't pretend you ain't fond of money, babe. Anyone says that, I know he's a liar."

"What a high opinion of human nature you must have. No one can have better motives than yours, huh?"

"You sayin' my motives are low? No way, girl. I am not letting Brown off with one cent less than he owes me, and that's no small amount."

"Just how do you plan to collect? Your attempt this afternoon wasn't too successful!"

Bean's stare flickered and slid away. He ground his jaw for a moment, then smiled reluctantly. "All right, Vincent, I owe you for that. If you hadn't tailed me in Hollywood, I could be dead right now."

"Yeah...you would be." They looked at each other.

Rally tried a smile of triumph, but it wobbled off into a sickeningly acute memory: her certainty that Bean would burn in that wrecked Corvette. She had been sure to the depths of torment that she would have to stand witness, powerless to save him from a horrible death. Before her eyes hovered the awful phantom her mind had conjured up—a human face withering in flame, the mouth's agonized scream not quite drowned out by the ravenous fire.

The helplessness of that moment still roiled her guts as she locked her gaze with Bean's, his look more open now, less cutting. She knew he irritated her to frenzy and that she had occasionally hated his guts, but somehow he was connected to her—he was right about her penchant for interfering with him. The fact that she had saved his life in the warehouse that afternoon had tied his fate even more tightly to hers.

If she could have blamed her own actions or failure of action, however indirectly, for Bean's death, she never could have forgiven herself. She would have replayed the scene as a constant nightmare, every sound and smell branded into her memory even if she had been coward enough to cover her eyes. She never would have left him alone while he died.

In a way Bean had saved her as well as himself. He'd extricated himself from that jam, with a little help. She'd felt in control during the firefight in the warehouse, even when pinned down under the stairs—a sniper zipping high-powered rounds past her head was the kind of situation she knew how to take in hand. Even the struggle to get Bean out of the car had not panicked her until she had felt her own strength unequal to the task. She was so used to relying on herself that she had not taken Bean's abilities into the equation. He could do a great deal that she couldn't, though she could surpass him in any number of other fields. Not as a driver, she admitted to herself, though she was equal to nearly any situation; there wasn't anyone on the continent who could beat Bean behind the wheel. Like the master swordsman in any number of samurai movies, the only way to vanquish him was with a gun.

"I'm going to get a room," said Rally finally, and turned away. "You can go to—" She stopped abruptly, cursing herself for calling up the image of fiery torment again.

"Hey, Vincent." Bean walked behind her as her steps faltered. "Wait up."

"What do you want?"

"I got a proposition for ya."

"Huh?" She spun around, with a fleeting fancy that he was making a pass at her.

His hands were thrust deep in his pockets, his eyes scanning the line of headlights. "You're right. I might have trouble making that collection. They won't drop their guard just 'cause they saw me crash an' burn fifty feet down an embankment. They know me." He gave a lopsided grin. "They don't know you so well. After today, they might have some idea. But if we were to go in this thing together and work it from both ends, I think we could do it."

"Do what, exactly? Kill Brown and get you half a million? What makes you think—"

"Hold on." Bean put up one palm. "I'm willing to compromise here. You want Brown alive so you can take him in? Well, I want that money. We can split the benefits—you take that bastard for the reward, and I get my dough, which you know he owes me anyway. How about it?"

"That money is drug profits, Bean. You 'earned' it running heroin. No deal."

"Hey, I didn't know it was smack! That bastard told me—" He cleared his throat.

"Then you thought it was something else illegal, didn't you? Who hires you besides criminals, anyway?" She recalled the two or three occasions on which she had made use of Bean's services herself and grimaced.

"You'd be surprised."

"I'll bet."

"Look, can we at least talk about it? I'll buy you dinner." Rally's stomach chose that moment to growl. "Neither of us is going anywhere anyway, at least not till morning. Sleep on it and you might change your mind."

Rally groaned. "I ought to be arresting you, not talking about going partners with you! But I'm not a cop, I'm tired and I AM hungry, and frankly I don't suppose I ought to let you out of my sight, considering what you're likely to do once you get to San Francisco. Thanks for reminding me! We'll get a room here and we'll eat, and I'll discuss this with you on one condition."

"What?"

"That you don't hotwire something and try to ditch me once you know what I know. If this is a trick to get information out of me, you are going to regret it, Bean!"

"OK. It isn't a trick. I mean it. I won't steal a car."

"Or buy one off someone with all that cash you usually haul around! I know you."

"Fine, I won't buy one either, and I won't hitch a ride, and I won't start hikin' north through the frickin' cotton fields! How come you think I'm lyin' to you? Remember, I suggested a partnership before. I drive, you shoot. I think we kind of fit, you know?" He shrugged, smiling.

"Like cat and dog, maybe," snorted Rally. "Come with me."

They walked into the motel office and Rally rang the bell, studying a board with posted room rates. "God, it's expensive in California! We got a double room for half that in Kansas!"

"Double room?" Bean had a puzzled air.

"I am keeping my eye on you, mister." The clerk came out and she put her Visa card on the counter. "A double, please."

Bean slid the card back into her hand. "I'll pay." Rally started to protest, then shut her mouth. It was about time he offered to reimburse her for her trouble!

"That'll be $58.50," said the clerk, scribbling on a form. "What's your license plate number?"

"Illinois plates, BRD-529...well, I'm parked at the car shop. I had a little accident."

"Number 269. No smoking in the rooms." The clerk took two fifties from Bean and handed him his change. "Check-out time's eleven A.M. Not responsible for lost or stolen articles. Here's your key, twenty-five dollars replacement fee. Have a nice stay in Buttonkettle."

"Keeping an eye on me, huh?" Bean seemed to be chewing something over as they climbed the stairs to the upper level. "Hope you don't mind if you happen to see more than you expected to." He chuckled mildly. "I ain't accustomed to wear my shorts to bed."

Rally's back stiffened. She'd seen him naked before, though he didn't know it...

"And if I happen to get an eyeful, babe, don't say I didn't warn you. Hey, might almost make up for losin' my car. Heh, heh, heh."

Rally rolled her eyes and shoved the key in the door of room 269. Bean was obviously highly amused at his own trite wit. But although his comments were easily ignored, something about the situation gave her a sudden premonitory chill.

He stood right behind her, his shoulders blocking the overhead light. As she opened the door, he brushed past her and she caught a whiff of his scent. Smoke, sweat, leather. He scanned the room as if he expected to find gunmen hiding in the closet, then checked the light fixtures and television for transmitters.

Rally watched in some disbelief. How could anyone have miked the place for their benefit? Brown had sped off north to San Francisco and no one else could have known they were here. She hadn't even gotten hold of May yet. But obviously Bean liked to be careful.

The room was just an anonymous motel room, furnished with two double beds, a round table and three wooden armchairs with vinyl upholstery. Rally sat on a bed, then sighed and flopped down, flinging her arms out straight to the sides and letting them drop. A television sat on the low dresser and a rack attached to the back of the door held several newspapers and creased magazines.

The only object that drew her attention was Bean, stooping and running his hands under the furniture, his quick coordination remarkable for such a tall man. He found nothing out of the ordinary, though he pocketed some loose change he dug out of the upholstered chairs, and when he had finished he looked at Rally with a slight self-deprecating shrug.

When her only response was a weary stare, Bean unwrapped a drinking glass and got some water from the bathroom sink, rinsing a gulp around his mouth and spitting it out blood-tinged. He refilled the glass and threw the contents back like whiskey. Taking off his headband, he parted his sprawling black cockscomb with his fingers, scratching his scalp. Rally took out her cell phone and dialed the hotel room she was sharing with May in Hollywood.

Bean wet one hand under the faucet and slicked his hair straight back from his forehead to get it out of his eyes. A different look for him, one she'd seen before—sleeker, meaner, his jaw more prominent by contrast. Rally studied his profile while the phone rang, trying to gauge his mood and his motives for dealing with her.

Figuring out Bean had never been simple. He was one of the least readable people she knew, though also one of the most straightforward. The phone kept ringing and eventually she clicked it off, still gazing at Bean while he washed his dirty, bloodstained face and hands and scrubbed them dry with a towel. He wasn't a dissembler, but he wasn't a conversationalist either. Nearly every clue she had to his thoughts and personality was physical: his armored clothing, his weightlifter's muscles, his tight lips and controlled expressions. Much of the time he wore a scowl.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Bean turned his head and smirked at her. He'd caught her staring. Rally felt her face warm slightly, but she held the look until it became a contest.

Bean seemed to be sizing her up too, his smile growing broader by the moment until it broke out into a grin like the sun. Handsome was not the word, but he possessed an almost elegant clarity, a purposeful definition of face and limb that had a far more profound effect than mere prettiness. A queer feeling crept up the back of her scalp, something between warmth and uncomfortable burn.

He dropped the stare first, shutting the bathroom door with a wink, and she let out the breath she had been holding.

Rally thrust her phone back into her purse, got up from the bed and drew her CZ75. Standing in the middle of the room, she popped out the full magazine, rolled its weight in her hand, then ejected the chambered cartridge, put her forefinger through the trigger guard and spun the weapon out of her grip and back again, movements so natural and unconscious that she barely thought about them. The heavy, soothing touch of steel helped her organize her thoughts.

Tossing the gun in the air, she caught it in her left hand and repeated the spin, forwards and backwards and over again. With nothing more than this object, properly loaded and ready, she was anyone's equal, no matter how determined, no matter how powerful. Did that mean Brown and his goons, or was she thinking of Bean?

Rally reloaded the gun, put it away and folded her arms, tapping her foot. It was a sense of unusual danger that emerged in her mind, though to whom she couldn't say. The door opened and Bean came out, brushing past her to sit in one of the chairs. With a casual glance at her, he yawned and leaned back against the wall.

"Guess you want to freshen up before we eat, huh? Don't take all night, girl."

"Just stay here and don't get impatient!" she snapped at him. "It's been a rough day!" Rally went into the bathroom and shut the door, keeping her ears open. She used the toilet and washed her face, noting some signs of strain in the mirror. What was Bean seeing when he looked at her? She had paid far too much attention to him since they had arrived at the motel and not enough to herself.

Rally examined her expression—eyes wide, cheeks noticeably flushed even under her tawny skin. Far from its usual bouncy waves, her hair hung in dusty elf-locks around her face. Too excited, too discombobulated; too easy for him to think he could take advantage of her.

With a comb and cosmetic kit from her purse, she tidied up for a couple of minutes, then changed her torn hose for a fresh pair. That was all the luggage she had. No change of clothes except for panties, no pajamas. She was just going to have to make do for a few days. Rally checked the mirror again.

There. She looked more put-together, calm and in negotiating trim. Where Bean was concerned, she needed every advantage and all the self-confidence she could muster. She had plenty of faith in herself, but Bean was a master at putting her off-balance, deliberately or not. Theirs was a tense, adversarial relationship even when they were cooperating. It had always been easy for her to get angry with him. No one else had that influence on her, except May.

Bean never seemed to get very angry at her, however—she'd seen him berserk with rage in a fight, but he'd never aimed that at her, even when she'd aimed a gun at his head. Why was that always her first impulse? He hadn't ever threatened her.

Maybe it was his overweening size, his casual ferocity of manner, his infuriating air of amused neutrality. She wanted to get his attention, and a bullet to his skull was about the only thing he needed to fear. But he always walked away from her even when she had the drop on him with a ten-gauge. Her guns didn't impress him. She'd never had any real reason to shoot him, and he knew she never fired a gun without reason.

There had been no sound from outside except the rustle of newspapers—apparently Bean was going through the reading material. When she came out of the bathroom, he was standing over the table and shuffling a short pile of old magazines.

Bean looked up at her, then smiled, his eyes making a quick scan up and down.

Rally firmly folded her arms and returned his look. "So what about dinner?"

Bean crossed the room and peered out between the curtains at the line of glowing franchise signs. With a deep breath, Rally tore her gaze away from the hip pockets of his very well-fitting blue jeans. He left the curtains closed and came back to her. "How about the Mickey D's?"

"Ugh. OK, there isn't anything in this little burg I like better than that. We'd better get take-out and talk here. It's not the kind of conversation I want to have in public."

"Figured that." Bean grinned. "We operate better in the dark."

"Speak for yourself, Bean," muttered Rally.

* * *

They returned to the room in a quarter of an hour, Bean carrying a fast-food bag. He threw it on the table and put his sunglasses in the breast pocket of his flak jacket. After stripping off his driving gloves, he pulled out a chair and hung the jacket on the back. His olive-drab T-shirt was dark with perspiration under the arms and down the spine. They sat and ate hamburgers silently. 

Rally examined Bean's massive arms as he unwrapped a Quarter Pounder. Somehow he seemed even bigger out of the jacket. She kept her eyes lowered, not wanting to look Bean in the face again until she was ready to start the negotiation. Not having his facial control, she feared she would show her thoughts too clearly—she had been physically conscious of Bean all day long, since the moment she had seen him step from his car outside the warehouse.

Maybe longer than that. In a way, she had always felt this prickling mixture of agitation and fascination in his presence, but she'd rarely had leisure to contemplate it and feed it the way she was doing now. Usually, Bean was an adversary, a wild card in a dangerous game.

He was also a man who was going to sleep in the same room with her tonight. A shudder rippled through her.

Perhaps she could amend those troublesome thoughts at the source. Bean was an arrogant jerk...who had several times put himself at life-threatening risk for her. He was a violent criminal...who had saved May from gang-rape and from murder. He wasn't that good-looking close up: the scar over his nose didn't do a thing for her, and his jaw was truly enormous; he resembled a double-bitted axeblade with eyes...adding up somehow to the most compelling masculine face she knew.

Rally grimaced. She wished for a moment that she had brought May along after all, though taking Junior for a ride like that afternoon's would have been out of the question. At least she would have had an ally...or a chaperon? She took out her phone and tried calling the hotel again, and again got no answer. A quarter past eleven—May was staying out late! Rally had been nagging her about her diet and sleeping habits ever since the pregnancy test had showed a blue line, and she was probably enjoying a night of unbridled license.

"You gonna eat those fries?" Bean took her untouched boxful and unwrapped another Quarter Pounder. Rally watched him dispose of the burger in two bites, her appetite for fast food diminishing by the moment. He had a great set of teeth—hungry as a wolf with the canines to match.

She picked up her squashy, greasy Filet O' Fish, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. What could she propose to Bean about this temporary alliance?

She could certainly use some muscle against Brown and his crew. The man was built like a gorilla, stronger than she had ever realized. Rolling a car over, mostly by himself? Of course, he had been about to burn in it. Extremity could give anyone a gorilla's muscles, though he seemed perfectly calm now—on the surface. She could not say the same for herself, experiencing an intense sensation of having bit off more than she could chew.

Bean ate half her fries in one fistful and reached for another burger. He ate like a gorilla too. Did he do everything like that? She had a sudden mental image of Bean in bed with a woman, and all her abdominal muscles clenched.

She could have kicked herself. Rally jiggled her feet under the table and abruptly crossed her legs to keep her pelvis from moving against her seat. Her right foot bumped Bean's and he glanced up.

"Sorry," she muttered.

He grunted and continued to eat. Ketchup squirted on his thumb and he turned his head to lick it off, then put the thumb in his mouth and slid it slowly out through his lips. Rally choked on her last bite of food, grabbed for her drink and washed the constriction from her throat.

To her overheating imagination everything Bean did was taking on an indecent frisson. This would never do. They had a complicated question to settle between them, and she was putting herself at a significant disadvantage. Of course her sexual thoughts had nothing to do with him anyway!

She felt sure that the day's excitement had much more to do with it. The shots she'd fired in the warehouse seemed still to reverberate through her. Gunfire evoked her most intense physical reactions as nothing else did—certainly not a man, certainly not one she didn't even like. There wasn't any man she liked enough for THAT! She had her work, her car, her guns—that was her kind of excitement! The firefight had felt like foreplay to the violent back-and-forth of the road duel, but her aroused energies hadn't found a release yet. She would have to live with it for a while and hope it didn't get her into trouble.

Bean didn't betray any sign of having noticed her state of mind when she sneaked a peek at him. He tossed the last of his second extra-large Coke down his throat, the ice sloshing in the cup. Crunching a few cubes between his teeth, he put the cup down and looked at her.

"Had enough?" he asked.

"Uhh...plenty."

Bean crumpled up his six empty burger wrappers and her single one and stuffed them in the bag. "We gonna talk or what?" He tossed the bag across the room and hit the wastebasket dead center. Out of his jacket, which hung on his chair, he produced a pack of Marlboros and put one between his lips. Rally raised a brow. "You mind if I...?"

"They said, no smoking." Bean rolled his eyes and put the cigarette back in the pack. "OK. You want the money."

"Yep."

"I want Brown. But I also want that money turned in to the FBI. That's almost as important as seizing drugs!"

"Uh-uh. What's in it for me if I don't get the dough?"

"Bringing a criminal—bringing a whole syndicate to justice! You don't like drugs any more than I do, Bean. Admit it! You went after Brown for more reason than that he'd tricked you into breaking that promise you made to me."

"Maybe." Bean shifted in his seat. "I'm willing to see him arrested and put away instead of dead. But believe me, babe, half a million dollars is all the reason I need. Promise me that, and I'll work with you till this deal is up. Maybe if you think it works out we can make it more perm—"

"What if we don't get the money? What if Brown is all we can track down?"

"That's the breaks. As long as you agree that suitcase is mine wherever it falls. No turning it over to the Feds if you get your hands on it. That is MY money."

"Which you don't have! And which you will never have unless you get some help. This isn't your turf, Bean. It's not mine, either. But the law is the same all over the country." Rally felt cool and focused now, believing she held the better hand. The wild card wouldn't beat queens high! "Remember, I can always call the FBI. They may not catch you, but if I have to sic the Bureau on this case, you can kiss _all_ of that money goodbye!"

Bean glowered at her, his brows low over his eyes. "What's your deal?"

Rally took a deep breath. "Half of it. I'll promise you a quarter million. The other $250,000 goes with Brown to the FBI."

"Shit." Bean showed his teeth.

"I'll give you some information I got, too. Important stuff. And I will do everything I can to keep you from getting caught and your share confiscated. If you do get arrested...I'll speak up for you."

"Thanks a heap. But I don't plan on getting arrested. What information?"

"This organization Brown works for. It's called the Eight Dragon Triad and it seems to be based in Macau. They're moving out into the Americas since Macau goes back to Communist China at the end of the year."

"Yeah, yeah, I know that."

"How about this? They told him to get you for the job, all right. But it wasn't just because they needed the dope in Chicago in twenty-four hours. It was to find out why you'd quit running drugs, and to get you back into the business. Not as a freelancer. They want you to keep working—exclusively for them."

"You're kidding. Some big Asian syndicate wants me on their payroll? They can kiss my ass."

"I thought you'd think of it that way..." murmured Rally.

"No shit. Hey...this makes sense." Bean pulled a thoughtful face. "I was wondering what the hell he was yakking about—during the job. He didn't pop the question to me, but now that I think about it he must've been working on an angle. Guess he knew I would turn him down flat if he just came out and said it."

"Couldn't get up the nerve? Gosh, I wonder why." Rally rolled her eyes as Bean grinned. "So, obviously, Brown blew it big time and I think he's in deep trouble. I doubt his bosses will look kindly on his attempt to kill you. Those two men with him—the driver and the sharpshooter—must be loyal to him. But right now, aside from them, I bet he's all alone. I wouldn't touch this any other way, you understand. I'm not dumb enough to go butting heads with the Triads all by myself, or even with you."

"Hey, if they want me so bad, you're better off working with me, ain'tcha?" Bean leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

"Maybe. A quick arrest is one thing. A longer-term operation is another. I can handle either; I suppose you can too, as long as you don't get too many surprises along the way."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've noticed you get angriest and most reckless when you think someone is trying to trick you. That's why you went after Brown in the first place, right?"

"Damn straight. That skanky, sweet-talkin' sonofabitch—"

"OK, OK, I have the picture. I saw him give the order to shoot you. He's a rat's ass, but you are going to have to keep your cool if we're going to reel him in. Not exactly easy pickings, two against three, but yes, we can probably do it."

"Good. I want that money."

"I'm offering you half."

Bean shook his head slowly, lips tight. "Not a chance, babe."

"I gave you the information up front. You said you were willing to compromise!"

"On Brown, sure. I ain't in the killing business. But money is money."

"I'm compromising a lot more than you are! You say you won't commit a murder you don't really want to do anyway? I'm offering to condone a felony and make you a present of $250,000 in the bargain!"

"Ain't yours to give!"

"My help IS mine to give or withold, Bean!" Rally hit the table in frustration. "Remember, you're the one who proposed this." The greedy son of a bitch! "I think I had better just call the Feds and forget the whole thing!"

"Ahh, _shit!"_ Bean leaped up and kicked his chair halfway across the room. "Goddammit, I _want that cash!"_ He gritted his teeth and slammed a fist on the table. Rally stared him straight in the eye. "I've been driving cross-country four straight days with a mean mad on. I don't like driving mad. Takes all the fun out of it! My butt aches and this gunshot in my leg aches and I just watched my favorite 'Vette go up in smoke. You know how long it took me to find an LS-7? I deserve every last _motherfucking_ bill in that suitcase!" He punctuated his tirade with a stabbing forefinger.

Oooh, not so calm after all! "Poor baby." Rally's head was beginning to ache, not quite in sympathy.

Bean let out a huff, then a short laugh. "Hey, I picked the frickin' job. I only like to get paid what I'm owed!"

"So do I. I've named my price. Take it or leave it."

He glared at her while she folded her arms and coolly returned his stare. "I don't want to leave it, but I can't take it either. I just can't say _sayonara_ to that much dough." They kept their eyes locked for another few moments, then Bean picked up his chair and flopped down in it again. "I'd like to work with ya, babe. You're good. Just too damn expensive."

Rally tapped her fingers wearily. Bean seemed immovable, but she couldn't let him have what he wanted—her offer was too generous already, considering the legal trouble she courted. "I don't think we're going to figure this one out tonight. Better put it off to tomorrow."

"OK. But are we partners?"

"Yes. Temporarily."

Bean smiled. "You keep your promises, I keep mine. Shake on it, Vincent."

He put out his right hand, and she took it.

All her regained calm disintegrated at one touch. According to their shared rules of engagement, a handshake was a binding contract, the physical signature on their mutual enterprise. She was taking a significant risk embarking on a partnership with a criminal, but she already knew that. The shock that sizzled through her had a different origin—Bean himself. A man? She'd never wanted a man—she'd never wanted _anyone_ that way, much less Bean Bandit! She must be going nuts!

Rally' hand quivered in his and her palm began to sweat. She ended the handshake as quickly as she decently could, but Bean's brows had already gone up.

"That's it, then. We work together until we find what we're looking for." Even her voice shook. She yawned to cover it. "God, it's late. What a day."

"So sleep." He sat down on one of the beds and pulled off his boots.

"And have you run off while I'm snoozing?" Rally noted how the mattress sagged under his weight, her imagination on overdrive again. "Don't think I've forgotten how you gave me the slip in New York!"

"Didja hear what I said about that?"

"You won't steal a car." Rally chewed her lower lip, then nodded. "OK. I'll sleep. You stay in the room, though—I promise you I'll wake up if you even touch that doorknob." Something told her he was making some sort of mental reservation to his assurances.

"You trust anybody, Vincent?"

"Only when I have to, Bean."

"Have it your way. I'm gonna take a shower. Unless you want it first." He examined her with his head on one side and a finger flicking his long chin.

If she had experienced a twinge at the thought of sleeping next to him, the idea of stripping naked with only a flimsy door between them gave her a sensation like icy water. "No, I'm not going—" But she was sweaty and dirty from scrambling up the embankment and the dampness between her thighs had grown insidiously fragrant. "Uh...I'm probably going to spend quite a while, so go ahead. You take quicker showers than—"

His bemused smile brought her up short. "Good guess." Rally flushed. "I don't waste my time in the wash."

Of course he didn't know how she knew that. She'd never told him how she'd broken into his apartment in her successful attempt to stop his last drug run. She never would tell him, because he would realize she'd seen him strip for a shower and walk out again in a scant seven or eight minutes, naked and dripping.

He might even recall that he had opened his closet to answer the cell phone he'd left in his jacket and had held an unclad conversation with his contact. There he'd stood, directly in front of her hiding place, his crotch inches from her nose. That moment still loomed large in her memory as an eye-opening education in the upper limits of the male anatomy, one she would gladly have forgone.

Her eyes involuntarily dropped to the fly of his jeans as he stood up. It—that _thing_—was in there, tucked away like her CZ75 in its concealed holster, an alien weapon of whose workings she had no instinctive knowledge.

Bean went into the bathroom and closed the door. Rally sat down to take off her shoes. This felt odd; uncomfortable, but weirdly domestic—eating with him, preparing to sleep in a bed next to his, hearing his belt buckle hit the tile and the water turn on behind the bathroom door. Playing house with Bean Bandit? What a peculiar idea, but it had been _her_ idea to get a double room, after all. An honest precaution, wasn't it? If Bean split town and got to Brown before she did, that hundred-thousand dollar reward might go up in smoke just like the black Corvette.

She slowly shed her jacket, but left her shoulder holster in place. Although Bean didn't use firearms, she certainly wasn't going to strew her weapons around where he could get his hands on them.

His jacket still hung unattended on the back of his chair. Rally cast a quick glance at the bathroom door, the sound of water continuing. She had a few minutes in the clear. With a mild sense of guilt, she knelt behind the chair and began to go through his pockets.

The jacket, made of thick leather and Kevlar, lined with metal mesh and reinforced at the vital points with ceramic plates, weighed a good fifty pounds—an instant slipped disk to anyone but Bean. It had a snap-flap breast pocket, two handwarmers, and a suite of inner compartments.

Rally emptied them as quickly as she could, memorizing the location of the contents. Sunglasses, wallet, driving gloves, cell phone, a crumpled bandanna, his bullet-resistant headband. A folding multi-tool equipped with standard and Phillips screwdrivers, pliers, wrench and wire cutter. A tube of Loctite. A strip of wrapped condoms, marked 'XXXtra Large'. Rally blushed deeply and thrust them back into the jacket, then replaced everything but the wallet and checked further.

An eight-inch bowie knife with the sheath snapped to the interior of the left-hand inner breast pocket for a quick draw. A heavy-duty penlight. Six throwing spikes in the waistband. A slender switchblade with a wicked razor edge lurking in the lining of the right sleeve. All right, he went around armed—she knew that. Rally flipped the wallet open.

Driver's license with the usual terrible picture, not even recognizably Bean except for the coloring and the jaw. It wasn't an Illinois document, but a California forgery with a false name. She turned the wallet's insert pages. Social Security card with the same false name. A few business cards for car-related firms—a storage garage in Los Angeles, a machine shop and a transport company in downtown Chicago, a wrecker on the South Side, a mail-order parts discounter in Florida. An almost-expired coupon for an extra topping on a large deep-dish pizza. She looked in the cash compartment. A fat wad of hundred-dollar bills and another of fifties—about three thousand dollars in all.

That didn't seem like long green for Bean, so she felt the jacket carefully and discovered that the lining of the entire back held an additional cache, again in fifties and hundreds. There was no time to count it, but he had at least ten thousand in there. Bean carried no credit cards, no automatic teller cards, nothing with a link to his real identity. He probably memorized all his account numbers and did everything financial by phone.

In the back of the wallet he'd stuffed a few bits of folded paper with penciled addresses—all in Hollywood, all in the same large, scrawling hand: the traces of his search for Brown, apparently. Underneath, one three-by-five photograph, folded roughly in half. Rally began to remove it.

In the bathroom, the water shut off. Her alert ears caught the sound of Bean unlatching the shower door. She had maybe thirty seconds. With a fingernail, she pried up the edge of the photograph and took a quick look. A woman, stylish, blonde and beautiful, holding a dark-eyed little girl.

Rally stared at the picture for a moment; something drained through her, a hot and startling emotion. Bean's hand on the knob—Rally slapped the wallet shut and thrust it back into the jacket. She got up and seized one of the old magazines from the table. One arm of the jacket was still swinging, and she bumped it with her knee to stop the motion as the door opened.

Bean walked out, rubbing his head with a towel. Rally crossed to the bed and tossed the magazine down as if she had just finished with it, then picked up her purse to take into the bathroom with her. When she turned, Bean was leaning on his chair, hips on his jacket and the towel slung around his neck. His wet hair lay slicked against his skull, long, heavy, dead-black. He had his jeans on and his steel tank watch strapped around his wrist, but wore no shirt. Dark bruises mottled his pectorals and stomach, the effect of Brown's slugs. No chest hair to speak of—he looked like he might be part Asian, though Asian men didn't usually come so large. Rally wondered just what his background was.

"All yours." Bean pointed his chin at the bathroom and cleared water from his ears with an index finger. Rally nodded and stepped in. An extra-large olive drab T-shirt, a couple of socks and a pair of briefs dangled from one of the towel bars, dripping slowly on the floor. "Pardon my laundry," said Bean as she curled her lip. "My duffel went up in the damn car."

"No problem," muttered Rally, and closed the door behind her. Maybe she should wash her skivvies too, and leave bra and panties draped all over the furniture! That would serve the big slob right!

She kept her eyes averted from Bean's underwear while she stripped and folded her clothes neatly on the tiny vanity. Her handguns she laid carefully on top of the pile, except for the holstered CZ, which she hung on the hook on the back of the door. At least he wasn't likely to run off with nothing dry to wear besides jeans and jacket. But she cut her shower as short as she could, using up the tiny bottle of shampoo Bean had opened and scrubbing herself with the bar of motel soap he'd left in the dish.

His possessions hadn't told her a thing she didn't already know or could have deduced. He carried no gun, he had no firm legal identity, he armored himself in money, he had sex at least once in a while. Nothing unexpected, except for that photograph in his wallet.

Who was that woman? Very pretty, and very happy to be a mother judging from the way she looked at that baby. That couldn't be anything to do with Bean...of course. Why should she care if he had a girlfriend somewhere? But the woman hadn't struck her as the trailer-trash type—her hair wasn't frizzy or teased and she wore understated makeup. She had to be something to do with Brown. The chatty drug dealer had mentioned a wife and daughter, but she'd assumed he was embroidering for Bean's benefit.

Maybe he hadn't been. His whole manner had seemed like an act, but fragments of truth could reinforce the most flagrant lies. She couldn't very well ask Bean about the photo, so she mentally filed the information away and concentrated on her shower.

A long, coarse black hair swirled in the water at her feet and inveigled its way between her toes. "Oh, gross," she moaned, kicking it free and watching it slither down the drain. He'd been shedding right where she stood! At least it wasn't short and curly... _Damn, I wish I was a thousand miles from here! Anywhere but this room! Anyone but BEAN! _

Might he be feeling the same way about her?

Rally took special care to wash the sticky spots from between her thighs before she got out and dried off. The shower hadn't eased her tension. The whole place smelled of him by now and she couldn't get away from it. Goose bumps prickled her skin, only partly from cold. On the floor where Bean had dropped it lay a damp towel, and she picked it up between finger and thumb with exaggerated distaste, flinging it over the towel bar next to his soggy underwear. Then she noticed that the toilet seat stood insolently upright, and her blood pressure went through the ceiling.

"Ooooh! That...that MAN!" Rally hissed. She needed some kind of outlet before she popped off at such trivia, like a good run from one end of town to the other—that wouldn't take five minutes! But she couldn't leave the room. She settled for a few stretches and toe-touches on the bath mat, then toweled her hair vigorously until it was nearly dry. Blowing up at Bean wouldn't help her negotiate with him—she'd have to keep a rein on her temper, no matter how sloppy a housekeeper her roommate was. He was making some effort to be pleasant and so could she.

Perhaps she should try May one more time. She took out her cell phone from her purse, shut the toilet lid and sat down to call. The line rang thirteen times before she clicked off. It was nearly midnight. Rally sighed, looking at the bathroom door and hooking her bra.

Outside, silence. Was he still with her? A car engine started in the parking lot and she shot upright, flung the door open and stuck her head out to check.

Bean turned to look at her from his seat at the table and did a double-take at the sight of her bra straps. She retreated with a tiny squeak of embarrassment.

"Oh, good going, sweetheart!" she growled to herself, yanking on her blouse and skirt. "Give a free show and get everyone in a _real_ friendly mood!"

Rally combed her hair and fluffed it as best she could without a blow-dryer. Now if only she was getting ready to go out, instead of to go to bed! She didn't have a dressing gown or even a sleep shirt. Maybe Bean was prepared to sleep in the nude, but she was not.

Rally groaned. Why the hell hadn't she thought of this? How was she going to sleep at all? She stared at the locked bathroom door while putting on her panties and her hose for good measure. She could sleep in here wrapped around the toilet, if she wanted to look like a pretzel in the morning.

No, that would look timid, to put it mildly. _OK, girl, don't tell me you're actually afraid of the man!_ Bean had a strict sense of honor, if not of legality. Why would he try to take advantage of the situation? He'd never seemed particularly interested in her that way, anyhow, beyond a few routine masculine cracks. In point of fact, if he really wanted to go into business with her, he had excellent reason not to offend her. She was practically as safe as if she were with May.

Of course, May was the most sexually insatiable person she knew...poor Ken Taki probably had a rough time keeping up with the 'Living Kama Sutra'! Maybe May's pregnancy had thrown a cramp into their style, but somehow Rally doubted that. She giggled and opened the door.

At that moment, she realized she had put all her weapons on again with her clothes—wrist slide and .25, ankle holster and Duo, elastic garter with extra magazines and her CZ75. Feeling paranoid, wasn't she? Not wanting to retreat into the bathroom again as soon as she had emerged, Rally walked boldly into the bedroom just as Bean's wristwatch chimed midnight.

With his feet on the table, Bean flipped through one of the magazines. Oval scars like knotholes in oak scattered down his left arm and the side of his chest. She'd watched him take those bullets, and watched them pried out again by a doctor's forceps as he ground his teeth in unanesthetized pain. Bean wasn't invulnerable. He was mortal flesh and bone, no matter how formidable he might seem. Anyone else would probably have died from the injuries he'd incurred that day two years before, but he was still only a man. Rally tried to concentrate on that thought, but it was difficult to convince herself of its truth.

"Good night," she said. He glanced up and met her eyes for a moment, then returned to the magazine.

Neither of the beds had been turned down yet, so she had her choice, and took the one nearest the door. Without thinking about it, she lay down without removing one garment or weapon. If Brown had wind of where they were, or if Bean did try to sneak off during the night, she might need to move quickly. She hadn't decided yet if she trusted her temporary partner or not. At the moment she leaned towards giving him some credit for dependability, though none at all for morality. Her own abilities and equipment she had no doubts about—those were what kept her secure every day of her life. She could sleep like a child with three loaded handguns on her body.

So go to sleep! Rally pulled the covers over herself and snuggled her face into the pillow. Bean turned a page with a quiet rustle. She could hear the dim roar of I-5 over the hum of the air conditioner. Under other circumstances, the sound might have been soothing white noise. Right now, it was sandpaper on tender nerves.

Witching hour, the time of night that made daylight seem a distant memory. The only light in the room was the one over the table that Bean read by. Apparently he was going to unwind for a while before turning in, and maybe she should have done the same. Her legs kicked restlessly under the covers and her skirt rode up into a hard wrinkle around her waist. She was tired, her head felt heavy and muzzy, but rest seemed impossible. Lack of sleep always lowered her resistance to her own impulses...

Rally woke with her pelvis undulating in a sensual rhythm, the bed jiggling slightly to the sound of worn springs. It seemed to her that she must have had a dream, something erotic that had woken her, but she couldn't have been asleep for more than ten or fifteen minutes. She turned over with a little groan, her shoulder holster twisting under her, and opened her eyes.

Bean had lowered his magazine and she caught him looking directly at her. He gave no guilty start; returning her gaze for a moment, he redirected his eyes to the page. With surprised amusement she noticed he was reading Better Homes and Gardens. He must have been hard up for something to do—she'd assumed it was Sports Illustrated or Car & Driver. He'd combed his hair and draped his jacket over his unshirted shoulders, but his enormous feet were bare. All of a sudden he seemed less alien, more commonplace: only a big man with bare feet.

"Good read?" she asked.

He lifted a brow, but didn't reply.

She realized she felt silly, not to mention uncomfortable, lying there fully dressed except for shoes and jacket. And armed, for heaven's sake! She should just put her .25 under the pillow and take the rest of her weapons off for the night.

Rally rolled up to sit on the bed, smoothing her hair out of her face with one hand. Bean kept his eyes on his magazine. Stretching elaborately and arching her back, she let out a long sigh. She reached up to unbuckle her shoulder holster. When it was off, she hung it on the chair with her jacket and plucked open a button at the neck of her blouse, then undid the cuffs. The .25 on its arm-mounted slide unstrapped easily and went on the chair with the CZ75 in the holster, as did the Duo.

Now how to get the garter magazine holster off without displaying anything under her short skirt? She should have left all this off in the bathroom. Rally turned her back to Bean and hitched the skirt up on one side to unsnap the garter. She retrieved it and put that on the chair as well, then glanced up. Bean was pretending to read, but his eyes weren't moving across the page; they flickered up and down from magazine to her.

On impulse, Rally pushed another blouse-front button through its hole. What the hell was she doing? Testing him? That wasn't fair of her. She felt like laughing when his eyes locked to the hint of lacy bra showing in the vee of her neckline.

Rally twisted away and slipped one hand under her skirt, hooking a thumb in the waistband of her pantyhose. She wriggled them to her thighs while holding her skirt modestly down with the other hand, then half-reclined and peeled them off the rest of the way. Bean wasn't even pretending to read now, the magazine draped protectively over his lap. His armored jacket had slipped off his shoulders and hung precariously from the tilted chair.

She halfway realized she was speeding on dangerous curves, that she didn't have a map for this road, but the accelerator was stuck. She'd never gotten such a reaction from him, the cold-blooded bastard! But then she'd never taken this route before; had never had an opportunity or even the inclination to do so. If she'd known the effect it would have! It felt like power, a different kind from firepower or speed, a new kind whose potential upper limit she'd barely glimpsed. Her body trembled with both trepidation and suppressed giggles. Just a man!

Rally lay down again and looked at the ceiling, letting her knees loll open for a moment, and had the perverse satisfaction of hearing Bean's strangled cough. With a surge of relaxing self-congratulation, she decided that giving in to impulse hadn't been such a bad idea after all. She'd tease him a little longer, then pretend to go to sleep, and perhaps he'd be less stubborn about the money in the morning! She threw her arms above her head and wriggled her body into a curve across the bedspread, then ran her fingers through her hair to spread it out over the pillow.

The magazine crumpled loudly in Bean's fist. Looking along her body at him, she saw his chair leaning perilously against the wall and one hand pressed over his lower face. His sharp eyes met hers and held their gaze. Suddenly his chair slid down the wall, but he leaped up in a swift motion that made her jump. The chair fell to the carpet.

For a moment he seemed just as startled as she; he stood over her, slashing his gaze back and forth over the bed and her body. Then he wheeled and headed into the bathroom, slamming the door. In a minute she heard the toilet flush and the water turn on. The sound continued for some time, as if he were leaning on the sink to mull things over, or perhaps to run cold water over the back of his neck.

The overturned chair lay awkwardly where it had fallen; Bean hadn't set it upright this time. She had just made it impossible for them to sit quietly in this room together, she realized—the fragile truce was gone. And it was going to be a long night. Rally's smugness evaporated.

When he emerged in a quarter of a hour, now wearing his damp T-shirt, she sat up again and buttoned her blouse all the way to her neck. Maybe if she stripped her CZ75 for cleaning, she could change the subject.

Bean took a few steps into the room and stopped. He watched her for a moment while she tried to behave casually, but she found herself gripping the throat of her blouse as if her fist could become a padlock.

"Second thoughts, babe?" There was more than a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Hmmm?" She reached for her holster.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talkin' about, Vincent."

She hefted the CZ75 with a significant breath of relief at its cold, familiar touch. "OK, talk. I'll pretend to listen."

He let out a short snort, eyeing the pistol. "I didn't think you were that kind of woman. Reckoned ya knew your own mind."

"I generally do."

"Good," said Bean with heavier sarcasm. "You want to _fuck_ me?"

Rally could not reply, fingers convulsing around the pistol.

"Heh," said Bean after a few moments' silence. "Eyes bigger'n yer stomach, huh?" He stepped closer, put a hand on the arm of the bedside chair and leaned down. Rally brought the pistol up at point blank distance from his chin, her finger hovering over the trigger.

Bean scowled, but didn't move away, leveling his own finger at her. "Let me tell you one thing, babe. If you're trying to get me rattled, it ain't gonna happen. I don't let my work slide for any woman born."

He paused for emphasis. "You say the word, I'll screw you till yer eyes change color." Rally's eyes widened, her heart beating at high RPMs. Bean grinned like an animal and spoke through his teeth. "But it won't make one cent's worth of difference to the deal if I do!" He straightened and grabbed his jacket, reaching for the doorknob.

"Get the hell back in here, Bean!" She half-rose and cocked the pistol at his back, and he stopped.

"Make up your damn mind. I asked you a question, babe. What's the answer?" Bean turned around, expression washing oddly clean of anger, though challenge remained. He put one hand on the wall, dropped his jacket with a thud and hooked the other thumb in his belt loop.

Six foot seven inches tall, with his deeply-cut muscles outlined by his damp shirt: broad-chested and narrow-waisted, his legs long and slim and taut. If she'd been displaying herself a few minutes ago, he was keeping pace. Bean cocked a hip at her and gave her a slow, lascivious grin. Even with that big scar and big jaw, his face was striking. When he smiled with such blatant sensual intention, her heartbeat began to knock and ping.

Rally sat down on the bed again, her legs briefly unable to hold her upright. He couldn't be serious!

"I reckon you know damn well what kinda state you just put me in." Bean lazily adjusted the straining crotch of his jeans and watched her stunned expression. "This has been one helluva shitty day and you are about the prettiest sight I've seen even on a good one. I've been thinking about makin' it with you since the first look I ever got at you, and here you are getting comfy for bedtime right in front of me."

Good God, he _was_ serious. His anger she'd understood and could deflect, but it had gone. Rally felt as if the floor had fallen from under her, as if she'd gone off a cliff and were pendent in air for a thrilling moment, soaring, simultaneously helpless and flailing for solid ground.

Bean's voice dropped to a smoky murmur. "But what _I'm_ cravin' ain't the question, Rally. I thought I was getting signals tonight, but I figured I was just dreamin'. Maybe you want a piece of me. If I'd ever known you gave a damn, lady, I'd've come callin'. Want to do it?"

Her lips moved silently for a moment, almost trembling. "Yes," she heard herself say, without thought.

Bean took a long deep breath. "I'm here, babe. Any way you want it."

Rally put one leg up on the bed and turned to face him. Bean had a look of controlled avidity, his pupils dilated. That gaze, as sharp as the knives he carried in his jacket. She'd been on the receiving end of it before and hadn't quailed—why the hell did it scare her speechless now?

When she remained silent, he took a step towards her. Rally raised her chin, her chest heaving. She didn't feel so much willing as paralyzed—how could she actually want him, and how could she have admitted it? She'd just told him the simple truth, though... She laid the CZ75 on the bedside chair.

Bean bent down and put his hands on her shoulders, then knelt beside the bed. His face came down to the same level as hers and their eyes met. Not thinking about her next move, or his either, Rally gasped when Bean leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the mouth.

Quick, light, it lasted only an instant until she turned her face away, breathing rapidly. Bean drew back until she looked at him, then kissed her again, more deliberately this time. Hand cupped around her jaw, he kept her from turning her head. His mouth pressed hard and twisted against hers, opening her lips to his tongue.

"Man," he murmured indistinctly, "you are one sweet lady."

He settled on the bed with her and embraced her. Lifting her halfway onto his lap, he plunged his tongue into her mouth. His lips felt hot and moist, his scent rising up to blend with the salty taste of his kiss. He smelled of motel soap, fresh sweat and hamburgers, with a faint undertone of scorched rubber.

Rally's defensive reflexes slowly woke and she struggled for a moment, pushing against his immovable chest, trapped in the crush of his giant arms. Bean began to pull her down to the the mattress and she resisted his relaxing weight.

This didn't feel right. This felt much too fast and too far out of her control, but she had a throbbing, pounding pulse between her legs that threatened to take over her entire body. Her heart beat just as fast, making it difficult to catch her breath in the fleeting moments when Bean's lips left hers. He clasped her knee, then ran a hand up her bare thigh. Her legs parted and he thrust one thigh between them, trying to roll on top of her while he continued to kiss her with impatient hunger.

THE REMAINDER OF THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED FOR THIS SITE. The complete story can be found on my Livejournal. My username is madame(underscore)manga. Sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Three**

Near dawn. Rally opened one eye with her head still aching from sleeplessness. Out in the parking lot a big vehicle rumbled to a stop, its brakes screeching. Probably a trucker ending an all-night run. She pulled her pillow over her head to shut out the morning light and tried to go back to sleep.

She'd had a few hours of rest, disturbed by dreams, but it hadn't been a pleasant night. Bean had slept in all his clothes and Rally had removed hers in the dark for comfort's sake, huddling under the thin spread. She'd heard every sound he'd made during the night, from breathing to snoring to scratching. Every once in a while, he had let out a long grumbling sigh or growl, followed by restless tossing as if he were mentally kicking himself.

Maybe he was. He must have thought his prospects of partnership with her had just gone completely limp. But she had no intention of abrogating their temporary agreement over one embarrassing incident. She'd started it, after all. He'd reacted far more strongly than she had expected him to—but then so had she.

Rally's body twitched at the thought of Bean's kisses. If she had just pretended it didn't hurt or not admitted she was inexperienced, would he have gone ahead and pushed through the barrier? Would she have liked it? Would she be sleeping in the same bed with him now? Did she really give a damn about that? It was too early in the morning to know.

In the other bed, Bean turned over, then sat up. He got up, springs creaking, and padded over to the window, where he drew back the curtains with a stealthy rattle of brass rings. Then he closed them with another rattle. For a moment, there was no sound. She had the feeling that he was looking at her, evaluating. Rally pretended to be fast asleep. Maybe he would go back to bed, or maybe he would go get some breakfast, and she could catch a few more winks.

Bean sat down with a thump in one of the chairs and shook out his socks with a _fwap fwap_, then put them on and pulled on his boots. He stepped quietly into the bathroom, urinated into the toilet, and didn't flush it. Then he moved to the door, picked up his armored jacket from the floor where he had left it the previous night and put it on with a sound of slick lining, the creak of heavy leather and a cautious zipper.

Rally gritted her teeth in annoyance, hoping he would spend some time in one of the coffee shops before he came back. If the auto shop didn't open until ten or eleven, there was no point in her getting up. It couldn't be later than six now. Bean quietly opened the door, paused, stepped out and shut it. She heard his footsteps down the walkway and on the stairs, and then there was silence.

For a few minutes she tried to slip back into sleep, but her mind refused to throttle down. Apparently she was going to have to settle for three or four hours and make the best of it. And her bladder was full. Rally got up, naked except for underwear, and went into the bathroom. Wrinkling her nose, she flushed the toilet, flushed it again after relieving herself, then stripped and got into the shower.

Her body smelled of Bean, though not in an unpleasant way—his aura of leather and smoke combined with her own sweat made an insidiously sexy mixture. Rally felt another twinge in her groin, and reached down to test it. Yes, she was wet. Maybe Bean had felt frustrated last night at the sudden interruption, but so had she, and it hadn't been her choice.

She had thought she knew better than to try a stunt like that. In the light of morning, she fully realized that sex with Bean Bandit would have been a dangerous detour from her main direction of travel. She had better stick to the well-paved business route and avoid the bumpy back roads! Though strictly speaking, she had already taken that detour. Just because he hadn't had intercourse with her didn't mean they hadn't had sex. Certainly the act had been cut short and left symbolically incomplete—her hymen was still intact, she was still technically a virgin—but Bean didn't have a politician's turn of mind. He wouldn't easily dismiss or reason away what they had done.

Neither could she. Rally let her fingers linger, tucked between the firm, slick folds, and thought about Bean's hands on her body. His black head against her breasts, his tongue lapping at her hard nipples, and his fingers stroking up and down between her legs... Rally caressed herself, seizing one breast with her free hand. The warmth of the shower was nothing like the warmth of Bean's body, but it would have to do.

How would he have made love to her—no, fucked her—and how would she have liked it? More than she liked what she was doing to herself now? The hot unpredictability of sex with another person was entirely different from the self-focus of masturbation. Trying to imagine how Bean's penis would feel inside her, Rally pushed her middle finger into herself as far as it would go and thrust it in and out. That left something to be desired, so she pulled the juicy finger out and concentrated on her clit, rubbing it fast and biting her lips. Bean probably wouldn't be back for a little while, so she could make as much noise as she liked.

Strumming her nipples with one hand and thrusting her pelvis against the other, Rally built up a good throbbing momentum towards orgasm. A little fantasy scenario began to form in her head: Bean would come back from the coffee shop and step into the bathroom, pulling the shower door open and jumping in with her, heedless of the cascading water. She would unbutton his jeans and let him take her standing, wet leather rubbing her breasts as he lifted her to twine her legs around his waist. He was easily strong enough to hold her up while his hot, wet cock impaled her, his hands supporting her bottom and pulling her back and forth. She would throw her arms around his thick neck and kiss that big jaw, murmuring...murmuring what?

'You know this doesn't mean I'm going to let you take that $500,000, don't you?' Probably something like that...

Rally came with a long sharp cry and slid down the plastic shower stall wall to sit on the drain. Her own panting breaths and the pattering water were all she could hear.

_Kkhhkk...BBRRUUMMMMm...kkhhkk...mmBBBRRMMmmm, _said an engine outside. Rally straightened up. That was an unusual sound. Far deeper, far stronger than an average car's, even than her Cobra's.

_mmmMMBBRUUUUUUMMmmm. _The voice of horsepower, speed—and armor. Rally launched out of the shower, banged the door against the wall and snagged a towel on the way out of the bathroom. She flung the window curtains wide and got a flash of early sunlight from a well-waxed red car with a spoiler.

"BUFF!" she yelled. "BEAN! I'm going to KILL you!" Dashing through the door, dressed only in a skimpy motel towel, Rally grabbed her shoulder holster off the bedside chair and yanked out the CZ75 on the run. It was cocked and locked, and she thumbed the safety off.

A panel truck was pulling out of the lot and she saw the logo on the side as she slid down the stairs: "Motor Muscle Movers—Classic Cars and Race Transport Our Specialty. Not a Ding In a Decade."

How could she have been so stupid? Of course, he had shipped Buff to San Francisco, just as he must have shipped it from Chicago to Hollywood. He must have called the moving company the previous night and asked them to tell the driver to turn around and bring his car to Buttonkettle instead. Where he could ditch her!

Rally sprinted around the building and came face to face with Buff, which was coming towards her at about fifteen miles an hour, following the panel truck out of the parking lot. She ran directly at the car, which swerved to avoid her, but she put a hand on the hood and vaulted up to land sprawled on the windshield.

The driver's window was rolled down. She grabbed the side-view mirror to brace herself and jammed the CZ75 into Bean's face. He hit the brakes and screeched to a stop.

"Shit, girl! You trying to get yourself—"

"Get out of the car, Bean," said Rally in as deadly a tone as she could muster, considering that she was dressed in only a towel. "Hands over your head! Now!"

The cigarette in his mouth angled sharply downwards. "Hey, let me ex—"

"Shut up, you lying bastard! I've got you dead to rights. Turn off the ignition and give me those keys!" She rolled off the hood and leaned into the car, denting Bean's temple with the pistol just below his headband.

Bean complied, dropped the keys into her palm and sat still with his gloved hands outstretched on the wheel. Rally nudged him with the pistol and his face twitched. "You mind putting that thing away? I don't want to have to hurt—"

"Oh, of course not! Give me a break! Get out!" Bean moved slowly, keeping his hands in sight, and opened the door. Rally did a fast snap around the door frame to keep the CZ trained on him. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he slid out and stood upright, dropping the cigarette on the asphalt. No one else was around—the truck was gone and the motel was quiet.

"Take that jacket off and put it in the car. Keep your hands away from your cutlery unless you want some fingers shot off!"

Bean unzipped his jacket and let it drop down his arms, keeping an intense watch on the CZ75. He tossed the jacket onto the driver's seat and bumped the door with his hip to close it.

A little blast of wind from the slam blew Rally's towel awry. It untucked itself and dropped to the pavement.

"Eeeek!" she squealed, grabbing at the towel, but it was too late. She stood there stark naked! Bean jerked forward when she momentarily looked at the towel, but halted when the muzzle of the pistol jabbed him in the middle of the forehead. He was frozen in a crouch, his eyes level with her breasts. A faint arch of one brow was the only reaction he gave.

Rally took a deep breath and moved back a pace. "Back to the room!" She marched him up the stairs with the pistol pressed firmly to the base of his skull. Once they were inside, she made him drop prone and spread-legged on the carpet with his hands crossed in the small of his back. She handcuffed him and stood up.

"I'm going to get dressed," said Rally, "and you are going to lie there quietly if you know what's good for you!" Bean muttered something into the carpet. "What was that?"

"Nothin'," said Bean a little more distinctly. "Just never expected to get mine from a naked woman."

"You think I'm going to shoot you execution-style in a motel room because you imposed on me last night?" She let out a snort. No wonder he'd been so jumpy! "Get real, Bean. If I felt that way about it, you'd've been dead before you ever touched me!" Rally put on her blouse, omitting her bra, since it would take two hands to fasten. Bean could probably snap those cuffs with one yank. "I'm only insuring that you don't make another break for it. _Partners_, huh?"

"Thought I'd blown that already. But I hadn't decided to ditch you."

Rally wriggled into her skirt and zipped it. Her pantyhose would have to wait—she stuffed them into her purse and slipped her feet into her shoes. "Oh, really? Care to explain not telling me about the car? And sneaking out of the room and trying to drive away?"

"You gonna listen to me now?" He seemed calmer, but his tone was edged.

Rally found her clean panties and put them on. "Go ahead."

"Sorry about the car. I wanted to have an ace up my sleeve, I guess. I was only going to drive up to where we crashed and see if I could salvage any engine parts out of my Corvette now that it's daylight."

"There's nothing left you'd want to bother with, and you know it. I don't care if it IS a super-rare, super-horsepower LS-7—the heads must have been ruined. Even the block wouldn't come out of that fire in any kind of shape!"

"Aw, you'd be surprised what survives sometimes." He took a deep breath. "I needed to get out of the room, OK? I had to take a drive somewhere to think and that was as good a direction as any. Thought you were going to sleep in and wouldn't even notice I'd been gone."

She put her wrist slide and .25 automatic into her purse as well. "And once you got there, you were going to consider whether to keep heading north on your own."

Bean didn't reply for a minute. "OK, guilty," he said finally with a ghost of a laugh. "Didn't think you'd be all that sorry to see the last of me."

"Maybe I shouldn't be. Last night, you promised me you wouldn't skip out. What's your word worth now?"

"Hey, Vincent, I said I wouldn't steal a car." Bean twisted his head up and grinned at her. "Buff's all mine. Don't even have a loan on it."

"You goddamn hair-splitter." Rally sighed in exasperation, but it turned into a laugh. "Want some breakfast?"

"You gonna spoon-feed me ham and eggs, or can I get up?"

"You can get up." Rally produced her keys, knelt beside him and unlocked the cuffs. Bean pushed up on his hands. "Now listen to me, Bean, and listen good. No more hair-splitting. No fuzzy definitions. No more aces up the sleeve. You come clean with me, and I'll come clean with you. There is no way we can succeed at getting Brown if we aren't honest with each other. Keeping information back could get both of us killed."

She stood and looped the cuffs into the back of her waistband as Bean sat up and scratched his head. "I'm used to working with May. _We_ trust each other. We don't spring surprises on each other. I've known her a lot longer than I've known you, of course. I can't expect that the two of us will work together as well as the Gunsmith Cats do. But either you give it your best goddamn shot, or you can get in your car and leave right now." She dropped his keys in front of him.

Bean looked at her with an odd light in his face, like dawn breaking into a dark room. He smiled, widely and genuinely, and stood up in a quick, coordinated motion, scooping the keys into the air and catching them again. "My best shot." He gave her a nod. "You got the word, girl. Lead the way."

* * *

"Oh, for God's sake, May! Don't be such a baby! This is IMPORTANT!" Rally crouched down in the passenger seat of Bean's car, reddening with chagrin as she hissed into her cell phone. "I need you to come up to this place called Buttonkettle and take charge of the repairs to my car! It won't take long, and I'm going to need it soon!"

"Why didn't you stick around, then?" asked May peevishly. "You could have driven it to San Francisco yourself!"

"We decided we had better get moving, since we'd already lost ten hours!" Rally glanced over at Bean, who kept his eyes on the road but snickered quietly with every appearance of profound amusement. "I left the valet key at the Motel 6 desk—just tell them you're Minnie-May, and they'll give it to you. There's a big wad of cash in the envelope, too, which ought to pay for the work. Don't let them charge you more than eighteen hu—"

"I don't know diddly-squat about that kind of car! And what's this WE stuff, white man?"

"Um...that's me and uh, Bean. I'm riding in the Buff right now." Rally cringed as Bean grinned, still with eyes on the road.

"Buff? Bean? WHAT!"

"We formed a temporary alliance. We're still thrashing out the details, but we're going to work on Brown and his suitcase together. Better odds!"

"Oh, goody. You two get all the fun, while I fly Greyhound to some dump called _Buttonkettle?"_

"It's not such a bad place," said Rally lamely. Bean wheezed with laughter, his shoulders shaking.

"Oh, fine. OK. I will spend my vacation barfing in Buttonkettle. You and your personal chauffeur go punch holes in every crook in San Francisco. Just tell me all about it later, and I'll be PERFECTLY HAPPY!"

"Oh, shit!" Rally slumped forward against Buff's dash. "I left my arsenal in the trunk!"

Bean finally glanced over. "What?"

"My rifle and shotgun. Damn! The rifle's illegal in this state—it's got too big a magazine! I locked them in there before the tow came, and then I just...uhh, forgot to go get them out this morning." She shot an evil look at Bean, who shrugged. "Too many distractions, dammit...but I've got all my handguns."

"Well, I just won't unlock the trunk!" said May. "I couldn't with the valet key anyway."

"You're going to have to hurry up there, May. Bring all the luggage! And call me as soon as you arrive, and drive it north the moment it comes off the blocks! Please! I'm counting on you."

"Yeah..." said May with a long sigh. "Fine, I'd better get going." She hung up.

"You want to go back for 'em?" said Bean.

"When we've driven a hundred miles already? No, better keep going. I can buy a shotgun without a waiting period, at least, if I really need it. Can't get a decent rifle in California, though, which is why I brought my own!" Rally tucked her phone away and looked out the window.

Still flat, still brown, still dull. They had another hour or so before the turn off of I-5 to cross the coastal mountains and approach the Bay Area from the south on 101. Bean wasn't pushing the car; they were cruising at ninety-five, twenty-five miles per hour above the speed limit. "I haven't seen any Highway Patrol cars out here. But I'll bet they're not so rare on the commute routes."

Bean smiled and pointed at the dash.

"Is that a radar jammer? Wow, looks like a nice gadget...and completely illegal! What else does this incredibly expensive mode of transportation carry? I don't even want to know how much you ended up spending on this car. I'll probably shoot you out of envy." She ran her hands over the leather seats and leaned back to enjoy the monster engine's deep vibration.

"Hey, it took a long time to save up for! Emptied out my investments by the time I got the final engine mods installed. And it costs a bundle to maintain. That's why I don't drive it long distance if I can help it."

"Your investments? You into petroleum futures or something?"

"Something, yeah." Bean chuckled. "I sure can use that five hundred grand."

"That two hundred and fifty grand, you mean."

"We gotta thrash this one out," said Bean after a pause. "No better time than the present."

"Oh, hell," said Rally, knuckling her eyes. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night—my brain's not working right. How could I have forgotten my guns?"

"Hey, I didn't sleep too well either..." Bean's voice trailed off. The silence grew awkward, a chill settling over the atmosphere that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. In contrast with the last few minutes of easy banter, Rally felt her body shrink away from Bean's. Paradoxically, she was suddenly far more aware of him, something like what she had felt the night before. The night before, when he had almost taken her virginity...

Bean took out his pack of Marlboros, glanced at her and put them back in his jacket.

"Umm...thank you for the loan," said Rally to break the silence. "Two grand would have busted my credit limit."

"Sure thing." Bean reached for his radio dial. A burst of static exploded into the quiet car, and Bean hit the auto-search. A faint Spanish-language broadcast came through, and he hit it again. This time he got a strong signal and a singer with a twang.

_'Cause I like it! I love it! I want some more of it!  
I tried so hard, I can't rise above it,  
Don't know what it is 'bout that little gal's lovin',  
But I like it! I love it! I want some more—_

Bean hit the auto-search one more time.

_I ain't Goldfinger and I ain't Joe Fashion...  
And you can't buy much with the checks I'm cashin',  
But if you're wonderin' why I'm ridin' with a smile,  
It's 'cause my little baby loves me—Cadillac style!_

_Every night at ten-thirty she puts me in drive,  
Turns all the lights out and man alive!  
All eight cylinders are firin' in line,  
I'm never out of gas and I'm always on time—_

"Goddamn country-western stations," said Bean, and turned the radio off.

* * *

"Visiting hours are over, yeh slant-eye poof," said the small man with the large assault rifle. "Ye and yer bumboys can take a hike!"

"I am Number 426," said the black-clad Chinese man at the door of the hospital room, his eyes glittering in the early morning sun. He spoke in a British-tinged Chinese accent. "You will admit me, O'Toole." He gestured to the two large men behind him, both of whom stepped forward. O'Toole raised the rifle.

"Don't resist, Tom," said Brown from his bed. The driver paused in the act of rising from his chair, and Brown waved him back into it. "It's all right, Manny. I've been expecting this visit since we arrived."

"What remarkable foresight," said 426. "Take their weapons." The two large men moved into the room and collared O'Toole. They spread-eagled him against the wall and patted him down. Besides the assault rifle, they stripped him of an ankle-holstered knife, a grenade belt with three frag shells, a blued-steel .45 caliber combat model 1911 with two spare magazines, a half-used roll of duct tape, a pair of handcuffs, a leather-covered sap, a torn knee-high nylon stocking, and four boxes of .308 rifle shells.

"Getcher dirty hands off me property, yeh sodomites!" O'Toole spluttered as one of the the large men twirled the duct tape roll on a forefinger, smirking.

"And Mr. Manichetti." 426 pointed to the driver. "He is usually armed." The large men pulled him to his feet and frisked him.

"Jesus Christ, Tom." Manichetti yielded up his shoulder holster and nine-millimeter Beretta. "You still carrying your kit? Thought you swore off women."

A nurse entered the room and shrieked at the sight of the guns. "Mr. Brown! There's only so much of this kind of activity we can—"

"Put it on my bill." Brown gestured for the door to be closed behind her. "Welcome, 426." He sat up and bowed. "Pardon my inability to rise." The two men frisked him, pulling his silk pajamas askew, and found nothing. "I'm still groggy from the anesthetic, you see...I had surgery only last night." He held up his maimed right hand, now encased in a plastic cast with only the little finger and thumb protruding.

"That is unfortunate." 426 took a chair. "I would prefer you fully aware of your fate."

Next to Brown, he looked monkish—his slightly grizzled black hair close-cropped, his clothing plain though finely cut. Although he was well over forty, his face showed few lines, as if he seldom smiled.

Brown straightened his pajamas and smoothed back his highlighted blonde hair. "You've come to tell me what that is, I see."

"I have been assigned," said 426, "to kill you, Sylvester Brown."

"Yeh Chink queer!" howled O'Toole. "I'll focking kill YOU—"

"Be quiet, Tom!" hissed Brown, and O'Toole subsided.

"Your men will follow you in death. In this one's case, it will be long overdue." He slitted his dark eyes at O'Toole.

"Don't blame them for my actions," said Brown quickly, glancing at Manichetti's stricken face. "There's no reason to throw the baby out with—"

"Man or child, it makes no difference to the Eight Dragons."

"Oh," said Manichetti, "you're the one who whacked a nine-year-old boy for his life insurance."

426 threw him a look. "I am the Red Pole, Number 426. An American will have little grasp of the meaning behind the symbol and the number. Suffice it to say that it means I am the chief of assassins for the Eight Dragon Triad."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," said Brown.

"I have been waiting to receive this assignment for some time. It is inexplicable to me that a white man should have been given such latitude in our organization. I warned 459 about the problems that would arise from working with non-Asians who understand nothing of filial duty and of our values. Your decadent Western style of life is spreading among the leadership—"

"I don't think I'm the only new influence on such an ancient fraternity," said Brown soothingly. "The Eight Dragons have been in the United States for over ten years now. You give me far too much credit."

"I dislike you personally, and I dislike your lack of self-regulation, no matter how well you conceal it. But your deviant sexual activities are not truly my concern."

"Now, really, that's a little harsh—"

"How many child brothels did you visit the last time you were in Thailand? My observer lost count after Chiang Mai," spat 426. "You are incontinent, in every sense of the word."

Manichetti looked nauseated, his face turning pale and his brown eyes widening, but he remained silent. O'Toole gestured dismissively.

"You are an vainglorious blunderer whose mistakes have multiplied themselves until you must sink under their weight. How you have ingratiated yourself among the senior members of the Triad passes belief. I suppose in the same way that you established your cocaine business—the shallow inhabitants of Hollywood must easily swallow your unwholesome flattery. But when you poison the Triad, you poison my entire world."

"Obviously you're dedicated to the organization—"

"You have no conception of my idea of duty, Brown, so keep your serpent tongue off of it. Some have called you a magician, but Americans do not practice magic. Some of my superiors are at fault here—I say this only because you will not be able to repeat it to them. Not everyone voted to send me here today. Apparently some of them are willing to forgive your clumsiness. I am not."

"The others haven't heard the whole story. I made my report just before I went under the knife."

"Oh, yes, I would enjoy listening to your attempt at explanation. Including why you have killed the man you were sent to recruit."

"I didn't say he was dead," said Brown with a glazed smile.

"You ordered your bodyguard to shoot at Mr. Bandit on the road, by your own admission. You saw him last rolling his car down a slope. That driver was projected as the cornerstone of Midwest distribution, you bungling fool."

"I know that," said Brown. "It's...it's all part of the plan I have, you see—"

"Ludicrous."

"Listen to me, 426. Bean Bandit is not dead. You never met him, so that sounds ridiculous, huh? But it's true. I didn't see him get up and walk away after that crash, no, but I'm as sure of it as I am of my wife's sweet love. Say, did I ever show you—" He made a left-handed gesture towards his billfold on the nightstand. One of the large men seized his wrist. "Look, it's only a photograph," said Brown softly. "I was going to get out a picture of my wife, huh? Can we all just calm down here?"

"If you can remain calm while I strangle you, Brown, I may gain some respect for you after all." The assassin spooled a length of wire from his right sleeve. "Secure him, 189."

"Don't you want the explanation?" Brown gestured and the other large man caught the injured hand. He suppressed a yelp of pain. "I'm telling you, he's alive! I know more about him than he knows about himself, and I swear before Christ that he's not dead."

"Even if he still lives, he has been permanently turned against us."

"Against me!" 189 pulled Brown's hands behind him and tied them to the bed rail. "Only me! He doesn't even know who I work for."

"I find that unlikely. He has sources of information on you just as you have on him. Your vicious, self-serving foolishness has infected the entire Triad, and it will be a pleasure to make an end of you." He rose and pulled on a pair of black leather gloves.

Brown's face twitched; sweat glowed on his forehead. "I-I accept my fate, 426. But shouldn't my death serve more purpose than five minutes of pleasure?"

"Five minutes?" The assassin chuckled, his first smile since he had entered the room. "Three quarters of an hour at least!"

Brown's face twitched. "The point being, that you are throwing away the best resource you have in this matter. It isn't a lost cause by any means. If the Eight Dragons want Bandit, they can have him, but only if they act wisely. Executing me isn't wise."

"Prove it."

"With pleasure." He took a deep breath. "First point. He's after me for five hundred thousand dollars, and that's as much as he makes in a very good year. Ergo, he will follow me wherever I go. Second point. He wants to kill me. If someone else does that for him, he will give up the chase and go home. Conclusion. Keep me alive if you want to draw him in or have anything that he will bargain for. If the whole idea was to gain the benefit of his skills, I am still essential even if you discount my information or my intellect. Naturally I don't wish to do that—"

"Your own failure—"

"I defy anyone to have made friends with that man through conversation alone," said Brown through his teeth. "He's utterly uninterested in other people. I'm beginning to think he's made of the same steel and fiberglass as his cars. I should have approached him as a machine, not as a human being. I feel like Linda Hamilton with Arnold Schwarzenegger following me, or if you've ever seen 'Black Magic M-66'—"

"This is an excuse for giving an explicit order to shoot him?"

"No. No, of course not." Brown swallowed hard. "I admit my fault. That's the Chinese way, isn't it? I confess my failure and submit myself to the merciful judgment of my superiors. I am a pitiful, spineless American bungler. I am unworthy to lick the mud from your shoe, 426. I offer my worthless self as bait for Bean Bandit in any way that the leadership may choose. Though it makes much more sense to let me devise the plan myself, I am a faithful servant of the Eight Dragons." He bowed his head.

The assassin thwacked the length of wire thoughtfully against his palm. "I am not a strategist. I have my orders."

"Of course you have. But examine the intent behind the orders. What harm can it do if I use a brief reprieve to carry out the job I was supposed to accomplish in the first place? You can always execute me later if I fail again."

"True." The assassin took out a cell phone. He spoke into it in Cantonese, listened for a moment, and made an affirmative noise.

"Give me a little time," said Brown softly. "A week or two, huh? Then evaluate the situation again. You can only gain."

"I have asked to speak to Red Mountain 531 and Red Gourd 492. They will make the decision, not I."

"Of course," murmured Brown. 426 straightened up suddenly and began to speak in Cantonese again. His eyes flicked to Brown as he answered questions, then spoke at greater length. Eventually he nodded his head, bowed deeply, and put down the phone.

"It seems that you are correct about Bandit's invulnerability. Our agent has made his inquiries and reported in. Apparently Bandit rented a room in a small town in the Central Valley several hours after the accident, accompanied by a young woman—her identity is not certain, but apparently she is aiding him in some way. Do you know who she is?"

"I'll have to check my information," said Brown blandly. "He doesn't usually work with a partner. Where are they?"

"Buttonkettle. Her car is in a repair shop there, and he has had his armored vehicle delivered to him. They started north soon afterwards, and so may arrive in San Francisco before noon."

"That's perfect," said Brown sincerely. "They're looking for me. You don't want to disappoint them, do you?"

426 gave a deprecatory snort. "Your request has been granted. You have one week to convince Bean Bandit to work for us."

Brown, O'Toole and Manichetti let out a quiet, simultaneous sigh.

"It is Monday morning. If you have not succeeded by midnight on Sunday, I will carry out my original orders. You and your men will die. Your family's fate has yet to be determined."

"My...family?"

"Your wife and child are now under the protection of the Eight Dragon Triad."

"If...you've..._touched..._my...daughter..."

"She is with her mother, in her own home," said the assassin, smiling blandly. "I have simply placed guards around the perimeter of the grounds. Each is armed and well concealed. Your wife has been requested not to leave, for her own safety and that of her child. I need not point out that if you or either of your men attempts to escape, I will take all necessary measures."

Brown's handsome face resembled a grinning skull. "You have any children, 426?"

"No."

"That's too bad. Some things about life...and death...never really hit you in the face until you do."

"Perhaps," said the assassin, taking off his gloves. He stepped up to Brown and slapped him across the left cheek. "I hold all your lives in my hands, Brown. Remember that as this week wears on." He snapped his fingers at his men and left the room. The men took up stations in the hallway on each side of the door, 426 striding down the corridor alone, and O'Toole closed the door with a bang. Manichetti picked up O'Toole's knife and cut the cord holding Brown's hands to the bed rail.

"I think you are going to remember that better than I will," said Brown, meaning it for 426. He reached under his pillow and took out his .44 magnum revolver, laying it on the covers. "I can't fire this any more, Tom. I'm going to be counting on you. You too, Manny."

"Sure, boss," said the driver.

O'Toole retrieved his weapons and paraphenilia, putting them back into the cargo pockets of his fatigues. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I wasn't sure that Chink poof was goin' ta listen." Dropping to his knees beside Brown's bed, he crossed himself and briefly put his forehead on his clasped hands.

"If it's a religious moment for you, Tom, you must have faith." Brown put his left hand on O'Toole's rusty hair. "I'll get us out of this, huh?"

"I know yeh will, sir." He smiled up at Brown, his sharp face lit with something more than optimism.

"But what about Miss Tiffany?" Manichetti sat heavily in his chair. "God, if they're serious..."

"Have no doubt about it; they are. You recall correctly. 426 masterminded a plot to befriend a wealthy Hong Kong immigrant, take out life insurance on her son, and kill him for the payout. The police found the little boy in Golden Gate Park, strangled. The actual murderers are in jail. 426, obviously, is not." Brown reached for his billfold and took out a set of photo inserts, looking at a picture of a beautiful blonde woman holding a dark-eyed girl on her lap. "We can't simply fulfill the terms of the reprieve, of course. The elements in the Dragons that hate me will hate me even more if I escape their revenge. This just grew larger than a dispute about how best to recruit a man who despises taking orders."

"How much larger?" said Manichetti.

"Hand me a phone." Brown snapped his fingers. "I'm going to call the FBI."

* * *

"Careful." Rally pulled back her jacket and tapped the butt of her CZ75. "If I don't hear an answer in about ten seconds, I'm going to take the leash off." She batted her lashes over her shoulder at Bean, who cracked his knuckles and showed his teeth. The bartender's defiance began to slip. He cast a frightened eye around the room; the two or three patrons put their money down on their tables and sidled out. "See, your cronies can get the idea without too much trouble. They'd rather not have to try to pick my friend here out of a photo lineup."

"Who the hell are you people, anyway? I never saw either of you before. Why do you want to know about Sly Brown?"

"OK, your way now." Rally stepped back from the bar to give Bean some room.

Bean grinned, then picked up the bartender by the necktie. The man dangled for a moment, gasping and clawing. Bean let him down, then gave him a casual shove that sent him crashing into the liquor display behind the bar. Bottles fell and broke, a pungent smell rising from the floor. The bartender bounced off the shelves and darted a hand under the cash register. He came up brandishing a little black Glock. Rally drew her pistol, shot it out of his hand and leaped up and over the bar. Bean grabbed the man's necktie again and slammed his head to the bar. Rally put the CZ75 under the bartender's jaw.

"Look, it doesn't matter why we want to know. We do. So tell us."

"He...he got back in town last night," gasped the bartender.

"And went where?"

"He was in the hospital this morning. Got surgery on his hand after a fight."

"Who's with him? Careful, we know something about them."

"Manichetti drove him in, but he had to have some stitches for a cut in the leg. And O'Toole is guarding him with a bullet in his wrist. Said it wasn't bothering him enough to have it taken out yet."

"Guess they went up against an army, hmm?" Rally smiled at Bean.

"I don't know what happened. I went to the hospital to get instructions, since he's been gone for a week. Usually he shuttles between here and L.A. This time he flew out to Chicago and back for some kinda big shipment. He told me it was going to take his personal handling."

"Did he say what he's doing next?"

"No. He looked pretty shitty. Something went wrong in Chicago, that I gathered. And worse in L.A. But I'm just a middleman. I keep stuff in the back room for a few hours, it gets picked up and I get paid. I mostly see the couriers. But he's a nice guy, you know? He likes to drop by sometimes when he's in town and get acquainted, have a few drinks. Even met his wife once when he brought her up from L.A. for their anniversary."

"What a sweetheart," said Rally with a laugh.

"You're not going to kill him, are you?"

"He's got something that belongs to us. Which hospital?"

"No way." Rally ground the muzzle of her pistol harder under the bartender's chin. "Ow! Alexian Brothers! But he's probably checked out by now. You won't find him there. He said it was a red-alert security watch. O'Toole even frisked me before he let me in the room. He'll be at a safe house. I don't know any of those!"

"You know who he's watching out for?"

"No. O'Toole and Manichetti always stick with him. There were some other wiseguys there, though—some Chinese muscle outside the door. Never saw them before."

"You know who he works for?"

"I don't ask questions like that!"

"What do you distribute for him? Coke or heroin?"

"Coke. He doesn't deal in smack."

Rally cocked a brow at Bean. "I'm getting a funny feeling about this." She returned her attention to the bartender. "Thanks for the info. If I find out you've called Brown about us, I'm going to send in the SFPD with a search warrant. So keep your mouth shut."

"The cops?" The bartender rubbed his throat when Bean let go of his necktie and Rally holstered her pistol. "You're Chicago mob, aren't you? What's the big—"

"Sorry, honey. Bounty hunter." She flashed her ID at him, not long enough for him to read the name. "I play on the other side of the tracks."

"Coulda fooled me..." the man muttered, shuffling in broken liquor bottles.

"Hey, I asked nicely. And my friend was standing right here, too. Tch, tch! He's hard to miss!" She waggled her fingers goodbye as Bean pushed the door open to leave. Outside, the brilliant light of noon struck off the street and the sparkling bay, the skies blue and fresh. Rally blinked and put on her sunglasses. Bean followed suit. They crossed the street quickly and rounded the corner. Buff stood in the mouth of an alley facing towards the street. They got in and Bean started the car. "We'll have to thank your contact for giving us that address. But we're going to need to know a little more than what this guy could tell us."

Bean shot the car out of the alley and took a hard right, gunning it up a steep hill. "He didn't know much about Brown's plans."

"Probably no one outside his inner circle does. Manichetti and O'Toole, huh?" She got out her pad and jotted some notes. "Italian driver—I remember he was dark—and the other one's a sharpshooter and bodyguard. Sure was a fast mover."

"I didn't see the shooter. But the guy I hit with the throwing knife was a New York wop, all right. He didn't say much, but it stuck out all over. He don't dress like a wiseguy, though. I saw him in Chicago, too."

"Hey, we haven't really discussed that yet! Tell me about the original deal." They crested the top of the hill and looked down on the ocean over descending rows of white and pastel buildings that cascaded down the slopes like out-of-season snowbanks in the summer sunshine. The ocean shone blue-green and smooth, crisscrossed with an occasional sailboat wake. To their right she could glimpse the northern end of the Golden Gate Bridge as it joined high headlands across from the city. Behind the sharp peaks of a group of islands about thirty miles offshore, a low grey cloud bank hunkered far off the coast. "Wow, this is a pretty city. I think I like it here. Better than L.A., anyway! Look, there's the famous San Francisco fog!"

"Hey, nice view." Bean squinted under his sunglasses. "I think this is where they shot part of the car chase in 'Bullitt'."

"You philistine...hey, I think you're right. Isn't that the corner where the first hubcap comes off the—oh, geez!" Rally laughed and swatted at Bean, who dodged her, snickering. "The deal?"

"Yeah. I got a call from Brown last Tuesday evening. He said he'd gotten the number from a regular client of mine. Might have been telling the truth, might not. Plenty of people know that number. Including you." He grinned at her. "He said he was a Chicago art dealer. He had a shipment coming in to New York and he needed the stuff for a gallery opening the next day, plus he wanted to ride along with it. I told him to call U-Haul. Then he said, all confidential-like, that these paintings didn't have the right export papers. He pussyfooted around for a while—you heard how he likes to jaw—and he never came right out and said it, but I got the idea that he had a bunch of stuff from a museum heist in Europe. That was more up my alley. Since it was short notice and it's riskier when I ain't got some time to plan, I told him I'd do it for a hundred grand. That's about twice what I'd charge a few days ahead of time."

"And he didn't object."

"I didn't get no argument. He said he'd meet me with the money in twenty minutes. I drove out to a bar in the Loop, pretty ritzy joint, and he was there. All dolled up in his Armani suit and his blonde highlights. I could tell he wasn't no Chicagoan—he stunk of L.A. No flunkies with him except one red-head guy with an accent."

"What kind of accent?"

"Dunno. Maybe English—or he was a Mick. Yeah, he sounded like the St. Paddy's Day parade. He was packing under his jacket and kept an eye on me."

"That might have been O'Toole. I saw the sharpshooter, but he was wearing a balaclava both times—sort of like—whoa!"

"What?"

"Like the Provisional I.R.A. Or any number of violent splinter groups. The name would fit, too...there were a number of them that fled to the USA in the '80s and went into the Irish underground. In San Francisco and New York and Boston. Some of them petitioned for asylum and mostly ended up deported back to Northern Ireland. But not all. Some of them never got caught."

"So this guy's got terrorist training? Rockin'." Bean dug into a bag of walnuts in the shell and offered her one.

Rally bit her lips and shook her head at the walnut. "He's done this for real, all right, if that's who he really is." She looked out the car window at the view again, but they had descended from the heights and now cruised the lower streets, passing ornate Edwardian apartment buildings and blocks of shops and restaurants. "I wonder how many policemen and British soldiers he's sniped. We are going to have to watch out for him. Manichetti isn't much of a fighter, from what we saw."

"Naw, he's a wimp. One poke let all the air out of him." Bean cracked a walnut in his teeth.

"Still, he's a factor. Go on."

"I gave him my conditions—no drugs, no double-crosses, no discounts. He gave me the dough and a map, and never blinked an eye. I cut back home, got my Boss 302 juiced up, went back to pick him up and hit the road. He jabbered the whole way, 'till I was about ready to pitch him out the window. We met the boat in New York early the next morning and they loaded me up with the stuff. It looked like canvas rolls—like they'd cut the paintings off the frames and rolled them inside out. They unrolled one to show me. Some pile of weird-colored crap he said was supposed to be a broad combin' her hair."

"Abstract art?"

"Whatever." He ate the walnut and tossed the shell out the window at a stoplight, hitting it left-handed. "I never touched the things with my own hands. He'd told me his guys would do all the handling since these were so valuable. That was fine with me, though I couldn't see what was so great about 'em. I didn't smell anything wrong. I'm a driver, not a critic. I made good time 'cause he fell asleep on the way back, which probably saved his life, and delivered him and the load to a garage on the South Side that afternoon."

"You drove eighteen hundred miles in less than twenty-four hours?"

"No sweat, babe. Driving's my favorite thing to do in this universe. Gettin' paid for it gives me everything I'll ever need."

"Really." Money and machine...the sum of his attachments!

"That guy Manichetti was there, and some other flunkies—just errand boys. Brown kept talking me up while they were unloadin' me. Asked me all kinds of personal questions, like he's trying to be my friend or something. Goddamn touchy-feely Californian."

"Did he ask why you didn't run drugs any more?"

"Yep, in a roundabout kind of way. I didn't give him much of an answer—I said I'd lost a bet, but I didn't give any details. I mean, what was I gonna tell him? This little gal asked me not to? And then queered a big deal to make me keep my promise?" Bean shook his head, chuckling. "I don't care if _you_ know I can get blindsided. Nothing I can do about it anyway. But that's not the kind of thing I want gettin' around, huh?"

"I suppose not. But Goldie told me once that she knew…"

"Yeah, she figured that out on her own. I didn't tell no one."

"Oh…How'd you realize what was really in the load?"

"Well, all that personal relating rubbed me wrong. I started paying attention to the unloading. It was hard to see, but Manichetti was poking at the rolls with something. Like a long fat needle. I thought I saw him putting holes in a couple of them. That struck me pretty funny. Why poke holes in valuable paintings? So after they left, I came back and checked the floor with a flashlight. I dabbed up a few grains of smack. Didn't have to test it or nothing. I know that shit blindfolded."

"I'm not sure I want to ask how. What'd you do then?"

"Blew my goddamn top, that's what. If Brown'd still been there, I'd have killed him barehanded. You want to know how mad I was? I kicked a dent in my own car door! My Boss Mustang!" Bean shook his head as if astounded at his own capacity for violence. "Then I went home, called a guy I know to ship Buff to L.A., 'cause I knew the bastard must be high-tailing it home, and got in my black 'Vette. I crossed the damn country in three days and chased him to ground. You know the rest."

"Do I? How'd you find him at all?"

"Made a lot of phone calls on the way and then started circulating on the street. I got lucky and cornered him pretty quick."

"Lucky? When they'd put O'Toole up in the rafters to be ready for you?"

Bean gave her a glance. "OK, I got blindsided. Too damn mad to think it through. Sure, when they heard I was comin', they set it up so I'd find them on their own turf."

"Brown's not a dummy. Not entirely cool-headed—he gave that order to shoot you on the spur of the moment—but perfectly intelligent."

"I don't do so bad, babe." He made a face. "If I got time to plan, that is. Don't like charging in without thinking it over."

"Of course. You've put together some brilliant...operations. But I've noticed you expect things to go according to plan once you've worked out the steps. You won't change your course in midstream."

"There ain't too many that can make me change my course."

"No, you're practically a force of nature. I guess you can rely on that most of the time."

"Fuckin' A," said Bean with a nasty grin. "Uhh...'scuse my language," he said a moment later.

"Umm...so, did Becky have any good leads when you called her?"

"Heh. Becky tell you that?"

"She sold me the info. Along with the background on Brown and that tidbit about his trying to recruit you."

"I think she offered it to me, but all I wanted was their heading. I wasn't going to pay extra for anything else."

"I'd love to hear the two of _you_ negotiating over money!"

"She's a pro, like me. Yeah, she told me to go to Frisco and she gave me a quick rundown on the Dragons. I'd figured Brown was an independent, since he had a mix of people. You don't see a wop and a Mick working together like that—'cept in California, I guess."

"So we paid twice for mostly the same information. At least we don't have to do that now." Bean's uncouth vocabulary rubbed her the wrong way—she'd had slurs applied to her more than once because of her tawny Indic complexion. She could tell he meant nothing by it, so she decided not to comment.

"Yep, share and share alike. Though I don't have anything else to tell ya. I got some addresses from some other contacts, but that's all L.A. stuff."

"How about that photograph?"

"What photograph?"

"The one in your wallet. The woman and the little girl." He stared at her. "I confess, Bean. I went through your jacket while you were in the shower."

"Fair enough, since I left it there. I knew you weren't shy." Bean shook his head with a smile. "Nope. I got that picture from Brown himself."

"Huh?"

"He gave it to me on the way while he was gabbing. I guess he passes 'em out everywhere, because he had a stack of 'em in his billfold. I dropped it between the seats and dug it out later. I thought it might come in handy, if that really is his old lady." Bean got his wallet out and tossed it to her.

"I have the feeling she probably is. Funny." Rally extracted the photo and flattened it on the dash. A lovely smile on the mother's face, and a happy laugh on the little girl's. "I guess he's proud of having such a beautiful wife."

"Beautiful?" Bean turned to look and shrugged. "Aaah, I go for brunettes." His eyes flicked to Rally's hair.

She let that pass with no more than a skipped breath. Since he'd left her in his bed, he couldn't have wanted to have sex with her very badly after all—she could take a stray comment knowing that the matter would probably subside in a little while. "He seems to be very attached to his family, for a murderous drug dealer...or at least he wants people to think so."

"Yeah, he's a pussycat. Cuddles up to ya like you were the love of his life, all friendly and purring, then turns around and sinks his teeth into your ass. I hate his frickin' guts."

"I got that impression. You're going to a lot of trouble to get him."

"No, you get him. I get the money."

"Half the money."

"Aw, shit. I didn't drive all this way—"

"Why didn't you fly out and get Buff at the airport?"

"Fly? In an _airplane?_ You gotta be kidding me." Bean looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted feathers. "I drive. I don't sit in a damn cargo compartment and wait for some asshole in a uniform to crash his tin bird into a mountain. 'Sides, I don't fit in the damn seats. Tried it once. Never again."

"Hey, I think I finally found something Bean Bandit is afraid of!" Rally whooped and clapped her hands while Bean looked mildly embarrassed.

"Well, shit, I took it kinda hard when Stevie Ray Vaughan got killed. It's my tribute to his memory. Why didn't _you_ fly out here, instead of putting five thousand miles on the Cobra for your round trip?"

"Hey, I'm a driver too! Don't really like going along for the ride."

Bean twitched his mouth. "What about now? You not enjoyin' ridin' around town?"

Rally sat up straight. Now that he had called it to her attention, it did seem strange that she had never even felt the urge to comment on his driving. She'd only been observing his expertise with a half-conscious connoisseur's eye, admiring the perfect acquaintance with his machine that had to come from endless practice, but also from a natural affinity with chassis and wheel and suspension. Of course in extremity he could jump his car over obstacles or hold firm to the wheel while executing a violent slalom at high speed. In town driving, the finer aspects of his absolute control showed. This car functioned as an extension of his body; he wore it like a custom-tailored jacket and carried her as softly as if she nestled in his arms.

Rally was a skilled and fearless driver herself, but she had to admit that her passengers sometimes took a beating. Bean seemed to know exactly how far he could push the acceleration on a curve without rolling her around in her seat, exactly how to negotiate the hills without slipping backwards in stop-and-go or jolting her with quick starts. Some of the most spectacular San Francisco streets gave her pause at their extraordinary steepness, but she and Bean climbed and descended them with the smoothness of a gondola on a cable. Buff itself was a superb piece of engineering, but its driver might have been the most impressive feature of a near-perfect system for forward motion. Traffic seemed to part for him as if the cars themselves paid homage.

"Something the matter?" Bean returned her preoccupied stare.

"I...I guess since I know how you drive, it never seemed like a problem. Not exactly a lack of risk, but that comes with the operation. But no, it hasn't bothered me."

Bean smiled out the window. "Guess I'll have to take that as a compliment."

"Oh, I've got one more question about that delivery. I called a contact on the Chicago PD after I got wind of you in Hollywood. He told me about a heroin shipment rumor, but also that they hadn't tracked it down. How did the Chicago cops hear about it?"

Bean shrugged.

"Come clean with me, Bean. Remember, your best shot?"

"Yeah, OK. It's kinda embarrassing."

"Really?"

"I was so mad, I called 911. Damn fool thing to do, considerin' I was the courier, but that's what I did. Gave a description of the car they left in. Aaah, it was a long shot."

Rally shook her head in smiling wonder. "Bean Bandit called 911 on some drug traffickers. Truth is stranger than fiction."

"Where the hell we going, anyway? This cruisin' around the sights is kinda fun, but we got work to do."

"I'm hungry. Let's get some lunch, and I'll do some more calling around. I need to put some things together to make two and two..."

"There's a Mickey D's." Bean started to slow.

"No!" Rally shouted a little louder than she had meant to, and Bean looked at her strangely. "I...I mean, let's look for something better. The restaurants in San Francisco are famous! How about Chinese, or Thai?"

"You like that slop? Little bits a' green stuff on rice? Shee-it."

"Humor me! We're dealing with a Chinese syndicate here—maybe the food will get me thinking along the right lines!" They approached a red and white sign on a storefront, grouped with other Chinese businesses. "Hey! That says Eight Dragon Delight—what a name! That's where I want to eat."

Bean made a boyish face of disgust. "I ain't eatin' broccoli, or that raw fish crap."

"Order whatever the hell you want! And sushi is Japanese, by the way. There's a spot—so park."

"I think I oughtta have a meter chargin' by the quarter mile..." muttered Bean. He pulled Buff into the just-vacated space, cutting off a black Lexus by millimeters. The other car screeched to a halt and the driver jumped out, shaking his fist. Bean unfolded himself from Buff's driver's seat and stood up, barely glancing around at the Lexus.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, white boy!" the driver shouted in a California accent. Another man got out of the car. Both were Chinese and both wore flashy suits, accessorized with large gold watches. A gold stud shone in the driver's earlobe. The second man had a gold tooth in front and a bad perm.

"What'd you call me?" asked Bean mildly.

"White trash cocksucka," said Gold Tooth. In contrast with the first, he had a heavy Chinese accent. "You get you big ass out of ma pahking spot."

"And what if I don't?" said Bean, just as mildly. Rally took a better look at the men. Both were armed, their indifferently cut suits not hiding the outlines of shoulder holsters. Gangsters. She stood up and unbuttoned her jacket.

"We stomp that ugly car, that's what," said Gold Stud. "Where did you get that piece of shit?"

Rally saw Bean's face change. Slowly he turned around, cracking his knuckles.

"Think he have ugly cah built just to fit his big white ass? How tall you, cocksucka?" said Gold Tooth.

Bean looked down at the two men, neither of whom was over five foot six. "At least when I fart, I don't blow sand in my shoes."

"Hey, white boy! You don't talk to me like that!" The altercation was beginning to draw an audience. Rally looked into the window of the Eight Dragon Delight and saw a handsome young Chinese man peering out with concern in his face. He stepped behind the host desk and picked up a cordless phone.

"You got bad eyesight, short stuff. My car ain't ugly, and callin' me white is painting at least half of me the wrong color." Bean stepped closer to Gold Tooth. "Want a better look, 'fore I knock you blind?"

Gold Tooth pulled a cheap automatic and began to wave it around. The crowd gasped. Rally drew her CZ75. She took aim at Gold Tooth's trigger finger, but the retreating crowd was too dense for a safe shot. "Shit! His ho's got a gun!" yelled Gold Stud. He reached for his own weapon. This was about to get hideous. The young Chinese man in the restaurant was talking urgently on the cordless phone.

"Drop those guns!" shouted Rally. She flashed her ID. "No one has to get hurt here! Drop 'em, I said!"

"Drop it yourself, bitch!" shouted Gold Stud, brandishing another cheap automatic. He drew back one shoe and gave Buff a resounding kick. "We're gonna stomp this car into scrap, and then we're gonna kick the shit outta Too Tall here, and then we're gonna make _you_ kneel down and take it from both—"

"Feet off the car," said Bean. "Now."

"Fuck you, white-eyes! What 'cha gonna do about it, big man?" He hit the driver's window with the butt of his automatic, looking surprised when the glass didn't break.

"Nothin' much," said Bean, and took Gold Stud by the collar and belt. He lifted and threw him bodily into Gold Tooth, who went down, his pistol firing wildly. The crowd parted and some people ran. Rally vaulted over Buff's hood and landed face to face with Gold Stud, who rolled up to his knees and swung his pistol around to aim at her. She shot his right forefinger off from six feet away as his shot bounced off Buff and her bullet lodged in his shoulder. He screamed, his hand spurting blood, and dropped the gun. Gold Tooth rolled over and fired up at Bean, who put up one elbow to shield his jaw and kicked the man between the legs with an enormous steel-toed boot. Rally could hear the sickening crunch; the firing ceased and Gold Tooth doubled up on the sidewalk, whining. Bean shook the 9mm slugs out of his jacket and straightened up.

"Ya want some lunch?" he said to Rally, then smiled wolfishly and lit a cigarette.

Rally scooped up the guns and frisked both the men, then handcuffed them together to a bike rack. "Did anyone else get hit?" Rally stood up and scanned the crowd, but no one seemed to have been injured besides the two gangsters. "Has anyone called the cops?" she yelled.

"Yeah," said the young Chinese man, poking his head out of the restaurant. "They should be here soon. Lady, I'll speak up for you, but they are probably going to arrest everyone involved. Sorry."

"It's OK. Happens to me a lot." She sat down on Buff's hood. "I'm just glad no one else got hurt, the way those two were blasting away. Sheer luck."

"Luck's my stock in trade," said the young Chinese man. "Eight dragons for good fortune." He bobbed his head up at his sign and smiled. "You're not a cop, obviously, and I doubt you're another gangster—so what are you?" A teenaged Chinese girl peeked out the front door, wearing an apron and a wide-eyed expression.

"I'm a bounty hunter." Rally showed him her ID. "Irene Vincent, from Chicago. I go by 'Rally'. Sorry about the mess in front of your place."

"There's no one in this neighborhood who more richly deserved to be messed up," he replied. "They're just cheap punks, but they can make life hard for upstanding pillars of the business community like me." He smiled, his smooth tan face set off by very white teeth. "I'm Larry Sam." They shook hands. "This is Mengleng Wu—she's my lone employee." The teenaged girl smiled shyly. Bean spat on Buff's door and rubbed it with his bandanna, then ambled over. "Who's your powerful friend?"

"His name's Bean."

"Really," said Larry, craning back to look into Bean's face as he shook hands with him. "He sure doesn't look like he grew up on tofu." He laughed, and Rally laughed with him.

"Huh?" said Bean.

"You know—tofu, bean curd—get it?" Rally made little circles in the air with one hand. "It's sort of like cheese?"

"No," said Bean, looking suspicious and dropping ashes on the sidewalk. "I don't eat that crap."

Rally sighed. "He's not what you'd call culturally literate," she said to Larry, who smiled and nodded at the door of the restaurant.

"Come on inside to wait for the cops. After going to all that trouble for a parking space, you should take advantage of it."

"I'm not real fond of getting arrested, kid. C'mon, Vincent." Bean dropped his cigarette, stepped on it, returned to Buff and unlocked the door again. Two black and whites turned the corner two blocks east, sirens sounding.

"Too late! Bean, we have to talk to them."

"Do we?"

"Yes! Look, we didn't do anything wrong. Mr. Sam saw it all and he said he'll vouch for our actions. If you run, they'll only chase you!"

"And the problem with that is...?" Bean grinned. The black and whites pulled up, blocking the street exit.

"Let me handle this one, Bean! We don't have time to fight the cops, too!" Four uniformed officers got out of the black and whites, and Rally stood up to greet them.

"Hi there!" she said brightly. "Rally Vincent, from Chicago. Licensed bounty hunter. Here's my ID!"

* * *

"Man, you sure charmed the pants off those guys," said Bean, poking skeptically at Rally's platter of garlic-fried eggplant. "Wish I could just bat my baby blues and get 'em off _my_ case."

"Oh, Bean, you don't have to be so grumpy about it!" said Rally through a mouthful of cashew chicken. "Would you rather they had heard of YOU and not of me? Or that Larry hadn't been there to confirm we weren't the aggressors? We'd be down at the station now instead of eating this delicious lunch!"

Mengleng Wu waited on a few tables across the room and kept casting covert glances their way. Larry Sam came out of the kitchen with another plate and set it on the table with a flourish. "Tea-smoked duck for our butt-kicking carnivore. I guarantee, it's almost like barbecue...and my dad's deep-frying those pork ribs now."

Bean picked up a duck leg and sniffed it. "Smells OK." He took a cautious bite. "I dunno. I'm just not used to standin' there scratching my ass while a skirt sweet-talks her way around a bunch of fuzz." He took a larger bite, then crunched down on the bone. "Hey, this ain't bad."

"I'm deeply honored," said Larry, bowing. "More tea, Ms. Vincent?" He refilled her cup.

Rally smiled at him, then growled at Bean. "You sound as if it were cheating to have some social skills! Geez, I know I needed you to get that bartender softened up, but most people will see reason without the use of force!"

"Yeah, yeah. And you shot the guy's finger off to make him see reason." Bean ate a wing in one bite.

"I wish I hadn't had to draw on the street like that, with so many bystanders. Some situations just get worse and worse when the guns come out. They are not the simple solution to any conflict—sometimes they are the major reason a conflict escalates. Using a gun wrongly is one of the most reprehensible things a person can do!" She knew she was pontificating, but Larry's attentive gaze egged her on even as Bean rolled his eyes. "That's what I hate worst about that kind of gangster! But even with them, I'm always going to try talking first and shooting last."

"You two sound like you're in an interesting line of work," said Larry. He ducked into the kitchen and came out with a sizzling platter of ribs. "Enjoy, Mr. Bean." Bean's mouth was full, but he nodded.

"Well, yes, we are...but we don't always agree on how to do it! Such as what our next move should be."

"What's the problem?"

"Um...it's a long story..."

"I've got big ears," said Larry, tweaking the lobes. "And...maybe I can help you." Bean looked up at him askance, his jaws working away on pork ribs. Rally noticed that there was nothing left of the duck, not even bones.

"Pull up a chair, Larry. I'll fill you in."

"Hey," said Bean, with a loud crunch between his teeth. "What's the idea? You just met this guy an hour ago."

"Is he eating the _bones?"_ Larry's eyes widened. "You can do that with the duck, because it's so well cooked...but RIBS?" Bean picked up another one and bit it in half like a snapping dog. "Unbelievable."

"Pay no attention to him. He's showing off. He rolls cars over for a light workout before dinner."

"No kidding? But you've got some skills, too...Rally." Larry smiled at her, chin resting on fingers. He really was a good-looking man, and not too much older than she was—maybe twenty-four. Bean pulverized bones between his teeth and downed half a bottle of Tsingtao beer in a swig.

"Oh, I get along," said Rally with an airy wave. She helped herself to garlic-fried eggplant. "Well, this all started when someone in Hollywood complimented my car yesterday, around this time..."

* * *

"That her?"

"That's her." Brown lay back in his recliner and passed the photograph across the desk to O'Toole. "I got the best look at her—you were a little far away, Tom."

"I saw her through the scope. Looks colored or something." O'Toole examined the eight-by-ten, a shot of Rally arresting a man just outside the Chicago Tribune newspaper offices. She had a wide smile, her hair flying as she turned with her CZ75 in her hand. Manichetti looked over his shoulder, raising his brows.

"She's part Pakistani, according to the information." Brown shuffled through a folder, reading documents. The three men sat or stood in a palatial office inside a pier warehouse, the room suspended on steel beams forty feet above the warehouse floor. One wall entirely made of glass let Brown observe the activity among the crates and pallets stacked below, but he was paying no attention to the workers and forklifts. Instead, the ample surface of his rosewood desk held one thick black folder and a thinner tan one, marked 'Vincent'. The thin folder's contents passed from hand to hand around the room or lay on the desk in untidy piles. "Please study everything I have here. I'm looking for ideas, suggestions...anything, really. And memorize that pretty face, too. She's been known to employ disguises."

"Oh, lovely. A stinkin' Paki," hissed O'Toole. "And that big Jap mongrel—it's the fockin' United Nations of late, innit?" He laughed. "'Course I'm a Derry lad and Manny hails from Cosa Nostra. Dragons only like their own kind, but yeh got the talent to get along with everybody."

"I do seem to pick up the rainbow coalition, don't I?" Brown laughed with hollow mirth. "If only I had picked up Bandit the way I wanted to..." He hefted the thick black folder and dropped it on the desk again.

"Well," said Manichetti in a low voice, "comin' clean with him mighta helped." No one seemed to hear him.

"I don't get it. I mean, sir, I thought I was a hard case back in '89." O'Toole smiled at Brown. "First time I saw yeh, I thought yeh were a pansy-ass who couldn't wipe his own bum. An hour later, I was tossin' back Bushmills with yeh and tellin' yeh me life story. I thought sure yeh'd have him on a plate by the time yeh got back from Gotham. What's the big bastard's problem? Just the unfriendly type?"

"I don't think he got past the pansy-ass stage," said Brown with a sigh.

"Ah, shite. He just don't appreciate the finer things in life."

"Thank you, Tom," Brown laughed. "When you described how you'd blown the eyes out of that soldier in Shankshill, I knew I'd found a soul mate."

"That's a hell of a story," said Manichetti, grinning. "One bullet through both sockets! The juice runnin' down his cheeks and he's yelling for his mama—fuckin' priceless."

"Yeah..." O'Toole gave a nostalgic sigh. "Too bad I had to finish 'im off so quick. But it was a tidy bit of shootin' if I do say so. I hope I'm not losin' me touch." He rubbed his bandaged wrist.

"Let's hope I haven't lost mine."

"Never, sir. Even if I don't aim so true as I did once, I can still hit a target the size of Bandit."

"Certainly, Tom. But I don't think he's the most direct threat to us now. Ms. Vincent...now, there's a hazard for you. She's better with firearms than anyone that young has a right to be. She can't be bought off as far as I can tell. She's dead set against drug dealing, and she seems to pop up where Bandit is operating, working both with him and against him. Apparently she's on better terms with him than we are, though their relationship might be a tad volatile." He tossed all the documents on the desk and lit a cigarette. "That suggests a certain approach to my mind."

"To do what? Waste the big bugger?"

"No, no." Brown's eyes flicked towards the glass wall of his office. "That would be premature. The higher numbers are unanimous; he's to be won over. I'm going to carry out the terms of the reprieve—for now, assuming I get some cooperation with the rescue in L.A. If at all possible, we've got to find the key to him..."

Manichetti ventured a remark. "She may be a Paki, but she's a nice bit o' tail." O'Toole snorted, but Brown nodded.

"Exactly. Bandit's not an easy man to reach, but he's tolerated her interference in his affairs for years. Now they're actually traveling and operating together. If Mr. Bandit doesn't have some special regard for Ms. Vincent, I'd be very much surprised."

"And she hates drugs?" said Manichetti. All three men looked at each other.

Brown had a dawning smile. "He told me he lost a bet. I got the impression it was with a woman. I thought he might have been pulling my leg, considering his lack of social life."

"Any other woman it could have been?" said Manichetti.

"It's doubtful. He has no steady girlfriend and hasn't in years. I'm not sure how often he manages to talk to fellow humans outside of work. Ms. Vincent is one of the few females in the entire city of Chicago who can give him a run for his money...at least since Iron Goldie checked out. It has to be her."

"Lovely," said O'Toole. "I waste her, the bet's off, and we've got no problems."

"You aren't going to touch her, Tom. Sorry."

"Why the fock not?"

"That's not Bandit's way. If he made her a promise, he'll keep it to his own grave. We don't even know the details of this bet, and he'll never tell us, of course. If she dies now, so do all our chances."

"As long as he thinks she's the kinda woman he ought to keep his promises to," said Manichetti.

"Manny, you're batting a thousand today..." Brown waggled the remaining fingers on his right hand, grimacing in both pain and thought. "What would offend this man the most? What does he value over all else? For the sake of what ideal or commodity would he willingly discard his well-nigh bulletproof sense of professional honor, not to mention the only woman he's cared about in years?"

"Christ, that's an easy one," said Manichetti.

* * *

"You want green tea ice cream or fortune cookies? Dad does a mean deep-fried banana fritter, but you're probably too full for that..."

"Oogh, you're right...though I'll have to try it some other time! Fortune cookies, please. I always liked breaking them open when I was a kid." Rally surveyed the table, strewn with sauce-streaked platters and particles of rice. "Give your dad my compliments, and Bean's too."

"I think the sheer quantity might have tipped him off already. You think you might be back my way while you're in San Francisco? Sounds like you're going to be...busy."

"That's putting it mildly. Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything." Larry toyed with an extra set of paper-wrapped chopsticks while Mengleng began to clear the table. Rally glanced at the girl and Larry hesitated a moment, then pointed his chin at the kitchen. Mengleng looked puzzled, but wiped her hands on her apron and retreated. The swinging doors shut behind her to show a poster supporting Wen Ho Lee.

"What do you know about the local organized crime syndicates?" Rally began. "Specifically...the Asian ones."

Larry let out a long quiet breath and dropped the chopsticks into an empty teacup. "That's a delicate question."

"I know. That's why I left it this long, and that's why I told you all I did about what I'm doing in San Francisco. I didn't give you the whole story, of course. I'm not at liberty to do that." She had given him a bare outline of her adventures, naming no names and emphasizing the excitement of the chase. About Bean's history and financial interests in the deal she had scrupulously said nothing.

Rally had a good instinct for people, and in the course of the conversation she had evaluated Larry very thoroughly. He was an observant man, keenly intelligent under a light-hearted, affable manner. She knew crooks, and if he was a crook, she was very mistaken. But if anyone was in a position to give her information about Asian gangsters in San Francisco, it was a Chinese businessman whose restaurant shared its name with a Triad. Perhaps chance, or Rally's unexplainable instincts, had steered them to the Eight Dragon Delight. Larry himself had kept her here and highly interested, in far more ways than one.

"You mean...your friend Bean?" Larry nodded at the closed door of the restroom.

"Yes, mostly. He's got some interests in this deal that aren't quite the same as mine. That's all I can say."

"Can I ask you a question?" said Larry.

"Shoot."

"What's his interest...in you?"

"You mean, is he my boyfriend?" Rally gave her dry lips a quick lick. "No, he's not."

Larry furrowed his brow. "It was hard to tell. He's older than you are—maybe thirty? But that doesn't mean too much. I kept thinking I was seeing signals from one or the other of you, and then I wasn't sure." Rally smiled queasily. "He sure clammed up when you started telling me your saga. I kept waiting for him to fill in something, but he never did. God, that man can eat." He looked at a stack of seven or eight greasy platters next to three crumpled napkins and four empty beer bottles.

"For the things he likes, he's voracious."

"Yeah, I can see he would be." Larry scanned her face, his clear dark eyes lingering on her hair. "But he's not your boyfriend." His brows implied a question—he obviously didn't miss much.

"No."

"Good. I'd hate to get on the down side of a guy like that." He smiled softly, and Rally felt a mild, pleasant stirring in her middle. "But you asked me your question first. Shall I wait until your partner joins us again?"

"Thank you, Larry. I can see I came to the right place."

"Rally, I'm a working man. I'm running this restaurant while my dad does the cooking and my mom does the food buying and my sisters finish their educations. When Vanessa graduates from Berkeley and can take over here for a while, I'm going to go for an MBA. I've been admitted to Stanford Business School."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." He leaned forward. "You know, I am glad to be an American. My parents came here from Guangzhou in 1972. They had a rough time in China, and they had a rough time here for a while—but here they could work hard and improve their lives." Bean came out of the restroom and sat at the table again, glancing at Rally and putting his feet up on a vacant chair. "Mengleng came here last year, for the same reason. In China, the government takes what you earn. The officials take their cut, and the gangsters feed on what's left. If you want to get anywhere, you have to pay bribes to everyone, official and otherwise. Wherever Chinese have gone, the gangsters have followed." His voice was low and passionate; obviously he felt strongly about this, and Rally grew more and more confident that here was a priceless resource—possibly for free! "Mengleng almost fell into the hands of a Taiwanese pimp down in Burlingame right after she got here, and my sister Emerald—she's going to go to law school—brought her over from the women's shelter and I gave her a job. In this country, you can do something about those scumbags. They aren't a centuries-old tradition. The mold isn't hardened yet. They are here, and there are more coming, but they aren't invincible. If you're going after them, I want to give you all the luck you can handle."

"The Eight Dragon Triad, from Macau," said Rally. "That's the one we want."

"Shit," said Larry, his handsome face twisting. "Sorry. But it was just yesterday that two of their thugs came in here, right here in my nice place, and threatened to take it all out into the street in small pieces if I didn't start paying ten percent of my receipts to them, effective immediately. I told them to go fuck themselves. They didn't speak English too well, so I told them in Cantonese too. It's even more insulting that way." His eyes flicked down and up again. "The two you took out today were probably the next level of muscle."

"If giving information to us is going to get you in trouble—" Rally began.

"Let him talk, babe," said Bean, picking his teeth. His eyes met Larry's. "Sounds like a point of honor to me."

"Damn straight," said Larry. "I decided I'm not ever going to behave as if they have a claim on us. I'm proud of our restaurant and of its name. Eight's a lucky number. Every Chinese knows that. And the place opened in the Year of the Dragon. I have nothing to do with gangsters no matter what they call themselves. They're a perversion of everything my family is about. If you can help put them in jail, I'll help you, and I don't care what kind of threats they make. I could cringe and pay up. But why the hell did my parents slave to come to America, then? This isn't just for me. It's for their grandchildren, when they come."

"So what did you tell the cops?" said Bean, rolling his eyes again.

"Just what I told you. Extortion attempt, threats, all that. I doubt it will come to anything unless some solid crime gets committed. I don't blame the police for that. They have to chase the worst first. But I knew the bastards were going to try to horn in on me sooner or later, so I've been arming myself. Not your way." He smiled at Rally. "That's not my style. I've been getting information on who they are and what they're doing. What do you want to know?"

"We're after a man named Sly Brown. He's from Los Angeles, but he operates here as well. He's a drug dealer who's just gotten into heroin after sticking strictly to coke. The FBI's linked him to the Eight Dragon Triad, even though he's not Chinese. Why would he associate with them, and why heroin?"

"Heroin? That's easy. They control the sources for it, because the best sources are Asian. Coke's South American. Opium's cultivated in China, the Indian subcontinent plus Afghanistan, and Southeast Asia. Mexico's producing low-quality black tar heroin, but it's not China White and it sometimes causes fatal infections. If they recruited this guy, or took him over, which is more likely, they would want to use his distribution channels for their own stuff."

"Makes sense. Took him over, huh?" Rally raised a brow.

"Yeah. They move into a new territory, and they give the existing syndicates a choice. Fight it out, move out, or work for them. They don't have much compunction about murder and everyone knows it, so threats are pretty effective. Macau is an open city, practically. It's a lot less tidy than Hong Kong even though it's smaller—there are dozens of Triads with international ties. The Commies will clean it up in 2000, in their inimitable fashion, of course. They'll leave some room for the syndicates, depending on how much squeeze the gangsters pay to the Party officials, but it's going to be a big shakeup. The Dragons know they have to build an overseas base fast and they've been doing it for eight or ten years."

"Wow, that long?"

"They are patient. You may know something about Japanese gangsters—the yakuza?"

"Yes, I know the name. We don't get many of them out in Chicago yet!"

"They are mixed up with legitimate businesses to a great extent, but compared to the Chinese Triads, they have a short attention span, and a much more disreputable image. Triad members don't advertise their wealth any more than average Chinese do. None of this gold jewelry and flashy clothing stuff—they sock it away in mutual funds." Larry grinned. "I'm talking about the higher-ups, of course, not the cheap thugs you took out. No one gets to the top in a Triad organization without a sense of restraint and decorum."

"Gee, that doesn't sound much like Brown," said Rally. "But then he started out as a Hollywood cocaine pusher, I guess. The Dragons wanted his distribution system?"

"Probably. Using existing syndicates is more efficient, at least at first. The Dragons are more flexible, and therefore more dangerous, than many of the Hong Kong Triads. Natives of Macau tend to have mixed blood—Portugese, Malay—and are tolerant of racial differences, to some extent. They aren't as Chinese-chauvinist as mainlanders—as my parents." Larry shrugged with a faint smile. "When the Dragons know the ropes in the US, they will probably get rid of the Americans and replace them with their own people. Though they'll use anyone they think will get the job done, they're still fundamentally Chinese. Anyone who isn't at least part Asian is not ever going to be a part of the brotherhood."

"So Brown's position could be precarious?"

"Sure. They might use him for dirty jobs for a while. If he does well, he'll last longer. If he doesn't, as he might if they are pushing him into areas he's not familiar with, he could be shrimp toast in no time."

"That all fits with what we'd found out."

"Yep," said Bean, chuckling. "I'm a dirty job if there ever was one."

"I guess he decided he didn't want to recruit you after all. Too scared of you."

"Recruit him?" said Larry, his brows drawing down. "What the hell do you do that they want?"

"Drive," said Bean. "I just drive."

Larry looked hard at him, then at Rally. His eyes didn't hold fear or anger, but they did size her up with a new perspective. "Something you're not telling me, Ms. Vincent?"

"Yes. Plenty. But I promise you, I'm on the side of the law. I've got enough to put Brown away for life, if I can catch him. And the FBI wants to talk to him very badly. He may be able to bring down the whole American enterprise, or at least a big chunk of it. That's what I'm after, and that's why I asked you for information."

"I believe you," said Larry after a pause. "Excuse me for a moment." He got up and went into the kitchen.

"OK, you get to pick the restaurants from now on," said Bean. He smiled and belched loudly. "This kid is a freakin' encyclopedia."

"It's important to him. To a lot of people. That's why we have to do the best we can..."

"That and five hundred grand. That's what I'm countin' on, babe."

Rally felt her skin crawl. The contrast between the two men seemed like night and day at that moment. "Two hundred and fifty grand, you son of a bitch. There is no way I am going to let you waltz off with all that filthy money!"

"Hey!" Bean's boots hit the floor with a loud thud. "What's with the dirty names?"

She looked him in the face, his forehead wrinkling with a scowl. The X over his nose stood out whitely against his tanned skin. Someone had cut that on him for a reason...

"I don't know." She rubbed her temples. "It just slipped out."

"I don't get you, girl. You get all hifalutin' with your talk about higher motives, and then you practically cream for Pretty Larry here—" Rally hissed in furious surprise, but Bean went on, jabbing a finger at the kitchen door. "You think he's the kind can get you what you want? That college boy? He may have the facts, babe, but I've got the fists." He slammed one of them down on the table, rattling the dishes. "Don't forget that. You ain't moving one inch in this town without me, unless you want to walk!"

"What the hell just got into _you?"_

"I'm goin' out to the car. Here's to the family enterprise." He dropped a fifty on the table. "In case you ain't noticed, babe, it's Brown's money you've been eatin' off of. And it's two grand out of the five grand he gave me that's waiting at Buttonkettle to fix your Cobra. Money is money. It washes itself clean." He got up and walked out.

"Not in a thousand years, Bean," said Rally softly. "Never." She turned to see Larry Sam looking after Bean.

"You two have a slight disagreement?"

"We have them a lot. Boy, I need my car..."

"I can see how that might happen. How did a woman like you get mixed up with a man like that?"

"Just ran into each other," said Rally with a groan. "A car wreck; that's the only way to put it."

"I've got something else for you." He rummaged in the host desk. "Mama gets around town more than Dad and I do. She goes to the produce mart and the meat distributors. And she loves to gossip with the vendors. I just went upstairs to ask her if she'd heard where the Dragons hang their hats these days. She gave me some leads you might be able to use." He brought a map to the table and spread it out in the sunlight. "This is the waterfront, from Hunter's Point to the Golden Gate. San Francisco's got a lot of piers on the bay side. Some of them are still working cargo warehouses, some are tourist attractions, and some are derelict. This one here." He drew a finger along a Y-forked tongue that pointed roughly east. "That, according to the best market gossip in Chinatown, is the Dragon's lair."

"I can't thank you enough, Larry. You're a lucky charm." She put out her hand. He took it in one, then in both of his own.

"Let's hope that luck holds. Come back for dinner."

"As soon as I can, I promise." She dropped a light kiss on his cheek.

"Now that just paid for your meal," said Larry. "What's that money doing on the table?" He picked up the fifty and started to hand it to her.

"No, keep it. It's Bean's." A loud honk sounded from outside. "Gee, I think my taxi is getting impatient. Guess I'll have to go...if I don't want to walk."

"Fortune cookies!" said Larry, and gave her a small paper bag. "Take your pick of fates—there are four in here. Unfortunately, I don't stock the X-rated ones." She giggled and took it, moving to the door.

"Rally...if you need somewhere to come to...I mean, if you get into too much of a disagreement with him..." She looked up to see concern on his face, much the same expression he'd had when he'd looked out at a developing fight on his sidewalk. "I've got an apartment upstairs, next to my parents'. I'll go sleep on their hide-a-bed and you can have my bedroom. Any time, day or night. I'm always here." He leaned one hand on the door as he opened it for her. Bean had pulled out of the parking space and Buff stood idling aggressively in the street. He raced the engine when she emerged from the restaurant.

"Thank you." She smiled at him. "I don't think I'll need to. But that's a sweet offer." She felt a sexual stir, a small one. He returned her smile, his lips closed.

"I know you can take care of yourself. But watch your back. Here's my number." He slipped a card into her hand and went back into the Eight Dragon Delight. Rally got into Buff's passenger seat and Bean peeled out with an emphatic squeal of tires. He had left his city map on the floor of the car, and Rally picked it up and circled the Y-shaped pier with a pencil from her purse.

"Here." She handed the map to Bean. He glanced at it and let it fall, then took a left turn. Rally reached into her bag of fortune cookies and broke one open. The crisp vanilla scent made her smile nostalgically. The paper slip inside was pink and the printing was uneven.

"You are personable and make friends with ease. Lottery numbers: 5 12 36 44 51 60." She ate the cookie and broke another one. "Do not discount the lure of wealth. Lottery numbers: 1 9 18 24 29 47." She glanced over at Bean, who was staring stonily out the windshield, and broke the third one. "A long journey will end in happiness. Lottery numbers: 3 14 19 22 49 59."

"Yeah, right," muttered Rally, and broke the final one. The paper was white, and the printing clearer. "The sere leaf falls in autumn; who is to say precisely when?" There were no lottery numbers. Rally stuffed all the cookie fragments and fortunes back into the bag and put them under her seat. Bean took a right turn and cleared his throat.

"So what's the pier?"

"It's owned by the Dragons, apparently, or at least they use it. Want to check it out?"

"Sure. Though we oughta wait until dark."

"Yes. I suppose we need to find a hotel."

"Oh, you ain't got a date after all? College boy that slow on the draw?"

"What is your problem, Bean! He gave us a hell of a lot of help, at risk to himself! You think the only reason he told us all that was because he wanted something from me? What the hell does that say about YOU?"

He slid a narrowed gaze over to her, one burning with something intense that she at first took for anger. "I think you've got a better answer to that than mine, lady. I ain't forgot you unbuttonin' your blouse and I ain't forgot the way you kissed me. And I ain't forgot you moanin' and wigglin' like—shit, I got a blue steel hard-on right now just thinkin' about fingering your sweet slick —"

"Stop it!" Rally felt a deep panicked throb in her stomach and chest, her face flushing hot. "You...you..."

"Don't look so friggin' shocked, babe. Trying to fuck Rally Vincent was not the smartest thing I ever did in my life, but I got an invite, didn't I?"

"Ohh!"

"I ain't touchin' you again, never fear! I don't know what the hell you thought you were doing, or me either! I'm not the kind of guy you think is good for anything but bustin' heads, but for a little while there, you didn't give a damn. Don't suppose I'll ever know why." He changed lanes and broke eye contact.

Rally sat shaking, the Eight Dragon Delight card in her hand. She tucked it into her jacket pocket and clasped her hands together to stop their tremors. Why had she not given a damn about what he was? A violent felon of ravenous appetites! He was the worst possible choice she could have made. Wasn't he? But his words had brought back all the heat of that motel bed, focused into something that cut her like a wrecker's blowtorch. This matter wasn't subsiding. Who could explain the random spark, the flashing ignition of sexual passion? She'd never thought Bean was the kind to set her ablaze. Not a nice man. Not a man other people approved of or got along with. He wasn't ever going to earn an MBA or put himself on the line for the sake of his children yet unborn. Though he did have that goofy soft spot for kids...

Her cell phone rang and she quickly fished it out of her purse. "That must be May! She should have made it to Buttonkettle by now." Rally clicked the button and put the phone to her ear. "Hello! Rally Vincent here."

"Hello, Rally," said a smooth, California-accented voice. "I briefly made your acquaintance yesterday, under trying circumstances. I wasn't able to introduce myself at the time. My name's Sylvester Brown."


	4. Chapter 4

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Four**

"Is this a good time to talk?" Brown sounded relaxed and confident, but friendly. "I have a great deal to discuss with you, Rally, as I'm sure you realize."

Rally felt a slow cold wave go through her, every hair on her body erecting. It was the same man she'd seen in that warehouse in Hollywood the day before. The man she'd shot and maimed. She'd listened to him long enough to know the voice. But he had dropped something from his manner—the falseness, the edge of panic, the loose diction. When before he had sounded like a nervous Valley Boy imitating an inner-city punk, now he spoke like an earnest corporate manager. Either he was a superb actor, or he came across better when he didn't have a large, angry man waving a knife in his face.

"I know you're a reasonable person. Certainly we've had a few differences up to this point. But I'm willing to set that aside. How about you?"

"I...I'm listening." Bean didn't seem to be paying attention. But she'd learned the hard way that he picked up nearly everything that happened around him. "Go on."

"Ah. Is Mr. Bandit there?"

She glanced over at Bean, his eyes concealed behind his sunglasses. "Why?"

"I've gathered that you two are now traveling together. I'm curious—did he contact you before he visited me in Hollywood?"

"No comment."

"That's unfortunate. I was hoping to work something out with you, Rally. Obviously if you've made some sort of deal with that fellow, it's going to be more difficult to achieve. As I'm sure you realize, he's not the easiest man to negotiate with. And yet there's a great deal to be gained by going that route, huh?"

Rally didn't answer, her mind racing. What did he want? What did he think she wanted? Was this the break they needed?

"If Bandit is listening and you don't want him to hear the conversation, I can call you again in a few minutes. Would that be better?"

"Stay on, I'll be right back." Rally put the call on hold. "Bean."

Bean turned slightly towards her as they stopped at a red light. "You gonna tell me who's on the line?"

"Yes. No secrets. It's Brown."

"No shit." He smiled, not pleasantly.

"He says he wants to negotiate. With me. I think he's trying to pry me away from you." She swallowed hard. "I'm going to pretend I'm buying it and that you are not listening. Remember that, all right?"

"OK, I got it. You want me to pull over somewhere?"

"That's a good idea." Bean pulled ahead when the light changed, and then swerved into a small shopping strip's parking lot. He cut the engine, reclined his seat and put his hands behind his head. The car's interior was utterly quiet—the armor plating eliminated nearly all outside sound.

Rally took the call off hold. "You still there, Brown?"

"Right here. Everything settled now?"

"Yes. I can talk. You say you want to work something out with me?"

"I do, Rally. I believe you'll treat me fairly. I've done a little background check on you, and I know you're a woman of principle, in contrast with that fellow Bandit. What a name—it fits him perfectly, though of course it's not his real one." He paused, apparently waiting for a comment from her, but Rally said nothing. "I'll be willing to put myself in your hands, as long as we can agree on certain conditions, huh?"

"Put yourself into my hands? You mean in terms of negotiating with Bean, or...?"

"I meant it literally, Rally. I want to give myself up to you."

"Whaaat?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Rally. I am not in a good position. With my employers, I mean—I'm sure you know what I'm driving at, huh? You must have done your own background check on me." Brown chuckled softly. "You know who I work for, and something of their methods. I have nearly reached the end of my rope with them. If I don't give myself up to the FBI in the next week or less, I will be dead."

"They're going to execute you?" Bean sat up straight and took off his sunglasses. Rally met his eyes. "And so you want...asylum?"

"I failed to recruit the Roadbuster. He was supposed to serve as the linchpin for a new distribution system covering the Midwest and the northern seaboard. My superiors take their expansion plans very seriously. They prefer to make use of people who already know the territory and have proven track records—that's how I came to work for them, by the way. They settled on Mr. Bandit months ago as the best candidate, by far, and they will not take no for an answer. But they've never met the man. They assume that he is persuadable by ordinary means and is no more resistant to direction than the average self-made entrepeneur. They know he values money and that he is reliable, and therefore they presume he is the sort of man who is open to a well-paid permanent position with, ahem, certain benefits that come from working for a mid-size international organization."

"Heh, heh..." She couldn't help laughing, and Bean raised a brow at her.

"I see you appreciate the absurdity of the notion." Brown chuckled with her. "Unfortunately, my superiors do not. Explanations don't avail; I did my best. This isn't a profession that downsizes you when you blow a big assignment. It just puts you down. No golden parachutes—just a halo. Huh?"

Rally snorted quietly.

"Yes, I know." Brown laughed self-deprecatingly. "I'm not a saint, huh? But I did think I was a people person. Honestly, that's always been a strength of mine. They gave me a profile on him and a list of his accomplishments, and I did a great deal of research on my own before I approached him. I had some inkling he would be a tough nut to crack, but of course I had no idea just how tough. I even tracked down a woman who used to be his—aheh, heh." Again he waited for comment and again Rally said nothing.

"Well, at any rate, I did my homework. All to no avail. The moment I met him I knew I had very little chance of finding common ground with such an...elemental man, but I had to try. He has a positively Nietzschean aspect. Do you know I spent hours in a car with him, just attempting to get a conversation started? Incredible how impervious he is to any kind of human interaction. My heart sank lower with every mile. I might have been trying to talk to his car. As I'm sure you know...huh?"

She had the sense again that he was fishing. Why mention a woman and imply she had been his lover? Did he know something about her misadventure with Bean, or was he guessing? "Aaahh...why did you trick him, if you wanted to win him over?"

"Oh, he's told you about that, has he?" Brown let out a long sigh. "I was ordered to move that shipment quickly, and I was ordered to get the Roadbuster working for my employers. I tried to combine the two efforts, to my regret. Frankly, I was being set up to fail."

"Someone meant you to get into trouble?"

"Oh, yes. But I intend to give a full account to the FBI. Jail would be preferable to the kind of execution methods used in Macau. But I don't anticipate jail, of course. I intend to tell everything I know and go into the witness protection program. I have a family, you see..."

Rally felt her left fist clench. Bingo! The biggest catch of her life! "And you want to give yourself up to me?" She could not keep the eagerness out of her voice. "Why me?"

"I surmise you have some influence over Bean Bandit. Is that true?"

"Yes! Uhm, I mean...we do have an agreement at the moment."

"Can you keep him from killing me? I don't doubt he'd track me down anywhere I might go."

"I think I can guarantee that. If..."

"Yes?"

"If he gets his money." There was a long pause. Bean looked at her, a smile spreading over his face. With both hands, he gave her a thumbs-up.

"Mmm," said Brown. "That half-million. Of course, you saw that."

"I did. And I saw you try to have him shot."

Brown let out a long breath. "I suppose you think that was foolish. I'll be honest, huh? He scares the daylights out of me, Rally. I'm no innocent, of course. I've been around dangerous men most of my life. I've never worked it from the physical end myself, but I've certainly made use of such people when I had to. You must know what I mean...you're doing the same yourself at the moment, huh? But I have to say I panicked in Hollywood. I'm not proud of that."

"Why didn't you let him have the money? He'd have kept his word." _Of course, you'd still have had to deal with me, _she thought. _I wasn't going to let either of you get away!_

"It's not my money, you see. It belongs to my employers. I gathered it just to defend myself with in case he caught up with me. There was no question of actually giving it to him. If he had walked off with that suitcase, I wouldn't have lasted even this long."

"Do you still have it?"

"In point of fact...yes. I haven't been asked for an accounting yet. I suppose they think that's superfluous, since I'm not going to hold my position much longer. That's one thing that tipped me off to my imminent...termination."

"Then all we have to do is arrange a meeting place. I'll take care of the FBI end—I've got police contacts who will get the Feds for me. Bring that suitcase with you—but leave Manichetti and O'Toole behind."

Brown laughed. "What a thorough worker you are. I'm impressed."

"Thanks."

"I will have to call you back about the meeting, but it shouldn't be long. I don't have much time to waste, of course."

"I'll be waiting. Good luck."

"Thank you, Rally. I feel confident this will go well. Be cool, huh?" He clicked off.

Rally let out a long breath and fell back against the seat after turning off the phone. "Holy...shit." She wiped her face with the back of her hand and tried to let her body relax. Her throat felt tight and she was trembling.

"Good going, babe," said Bean. "My half-million bucks is comin' with the bastard?"

"He'll bring the money. _And_ half of it is going to the FBI."

"Goddamn it, Vincent—"

"Listen to me, Bean! I could turn ALL of it over to the FBI, and there isn't a thing you could do to stop me! But I promised you half of it, and you are going to get half. I'd suggest you be content with that!"

"Nothing I could do to stop you, eh?" Bean put a hand on the wheel, let out the parking brake, and slammed the car into gear. Rally lurched forward as he reversed out of the lot, and flattened against the upholstery as he stomped on the gas and barreled across three lanes to get into traffic. "You better think that one over, babe. You ain't usually given to makin' dumb cracks like that."

He punched the cigarette lighter, reached into his jacket, extracted his Marlboros, popped one up and drew it out with his teeth, then lit it and blew a cloud of malodorous smoke.

The nasty son of a bitch! Rally felt a wave of revulsion for the man next to her. Big, coarse, violent, greedy, loud, gluttonous, sullen...and jealous. Larry Sam's eloquent erudition and Brown's urbane smoothness had put Bean against an intensely unflattering background. She closed her eyes to block him out for a moment and sneered to think how Bean would have handled Brown's call.

The emotion felt poisonous, but sharp and bracing at the same time. Why had she ever thought he was attractive? What was that energy, that skill and coordination, that ferocious elemental quality? Or his black hair, his powerful arms, his intense mouth and direct touch? Nothing but physical attributes, of course, nothing to do with the fundamental man. If he ever showed his inner self to anyone, he must have shown himself to her...

Her phone rang again, and she dug it out of her purse. "Rally Vincent here."

"Who the hell have you been yapping with? I've been trying to get you for ten minutes from this damn pay phone! Turn on your call waiting, for crying out loud!"

"Oh, hi, May." Rally let out a sigh. "How do you like Buttonkettle?"

* * *

Birds sang in the flowering trees of Golden Gate Park while children ran and laughed along the paths. Green grass speckled with tiny daisies flowed down gentle slopes to meet lines of dark cypresses, rhododendrons blooming in the glades between groups of oaks and madrones. When Rally and Bean emerged from the woods into a small open meadow, squirrels scampered away and up the oaks, chattering to each other. The afternoon sun shone bright and clear in a perfect blue sky, the breeze pleasantly cool with a hint of ocean.

"This ain't good." Bean scowled over his shoulder at her. "Don't like it."

"Tough." Rally drew her CZ75 and stepped off the path. She scanned the trees for movement. "It's not like we know this city. If he says this is a good spot to meet, we've got to take his word for it."

"Says you." Bean followed her. "You telling me you trust that bastard? If he told me it was Monday, I'd figure my watch calendar was busted."

"I told him to describe three different places and I'd choose one." She tucked her notebook into her jacket. "He can't have had them all staked out ahead of time—he doesn't have enough people and he can't drive a car right now. I figured this one was the least likely to be wired. It would be hard to rig surveillance equipment in the trees and keep it working. So he won't know where we are until we call him."

"Yeah, except if the other two are staked out, he knows we're _not_ there, hey?" Bean grinned at her when she looked around at him. "Process of elimination."

"Not for ten minutes or so. You got us here so fast he's probably thinking we're still on the road. So let's use that time to get set!" Rally considered her options. The oval meadow stretched about fifty yards to the west of the oak woods. Brown had given her minimal directions, mentioning only a parking spot and a few turns of path to lead to the meadow. She wasn't certain from which point of the compass he would approach. Bean had dropped her off at the designated spot, then parked Buff in the bushes just off a service road and jogged back to meet her.

"You think he's planning to try to whack us?"

"Not if he's telling the truth about the hit. I wonder..." She felt for the Eight Dragon Delight card in her pocket and entered the number into the fourth program slot on her cell phone. "Maybe we can get some more information about that. If Brown knows he's scheduled for termination, probably other people do too. In the mean time, let's just be careful. Don't stand too close to me while we're talking, that kind of thing. No point in making a single target out of the two of us."

Rally looked Bean up and down, noting not for the first time that his size made him an excellent target; no wonder he always wore an armored jacket. "If you get wounded, there is not much way for me to help you, of course—you weigh too damn much. So I may have to retreat if that happens; don't think I'm abandoning you or anything."

Bean rubbed his leg at the spot she knew the .308 had gone through. "Fine with me."

"Give me a boost." She turned around to face the big oak tree they stood under and grabbed a low branch. Bean stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her four feet into the air with a slight grunt. Rally gasped slightly; she'd meant a hand to step on, not a hoist. His easy strength reminded her a little too much of getting picked up and tossed onto a motel bed. She had to make an effort to keep her thoughts on a professional track and succeeded only partly.

She found a foothold and swung herself up into the tree, high enough to be concealed in the foliage. She worked her way out along a branch until she had a clear eight-foot drop to the ground.

"OK, this is perfect. I can see out, but no one will spot me until I jump. Where are you going to be?"

Bean scanned the area. Under the mature trees, the underbrush had been mostly cleared away. "No good spots unless I climb a tree too, and I don't see any that look like they'll hold me. Don't like it."

"You said that already. But this is the closest we're going to get to outdoor isolation in the middle of San Francisco." She heard traffic through the bushes that lined a nearby road, but the wilds of Golden Gate Park looked almost like countryside. No tall buildings clustered around the borders, so no rooftops showed above the trees. Only the asphalt path through the grass betrayed the urban setting.

"Yeah, I ain't walking into any more warehouses." Bean scratched his chin. "I'll show up anywhere I try to hide. I'd better just stand out in the open and give the finger to Brown when he gets here."

"Don't spook him, for God's sake! This isn't a done deal by a long shot. Shall I call him now?"

"Go for it." Bean walked off a few yards and leaned against another oak. Taking a couple of walnuts from his pocket, he cracked and ate them, dropping the shells on the ground.

Rally dialed the number Brown had given her. It rang once and was picked up. Someone laughed in the background and she could hear traffic, then Brown's voice came on the line. "Hello, this is Sly."

"Rally Vincent here. We picked the park, so come and talk."

"I'll be there with bells on," said Brown with a chuckle. "Shall I bring a picnic?"

"Thanks, we ate."

"Be seeing you," said Brown, and hung up. Rally put the phone in her jacket and sat back against a branch, surveying the meadow. Bean cracked another walnut in his teeth.

A grey squirrel crept down Bean's oak in fits and starts, eventually pausing just above his head with its nose twitching and tail flicking. Bean tilted his face to look up at it and took two more walnuts from his pocket.

"Lookin' for a handout? Get a job, ya bum." He smiled and tossed a walnut on the ground. The squirrel leaped down the trunk and scampered for the prize. It sat up for a moment with the walnut in its paws. Another squirrel ventured near Bean's boots, sniffed the grass at his heels, then ran halfway to the first squirrel and back again. It sat up to look at Bean.

"Too late. I ain't feeling generous any more." Bean cracked his last walnut and spoke with a full mouth. "Fight him for it or go hungry." The squirrels ran circles around each other for a few moments, then vanished up another tree together.

"Wimp."

"Which one?" asked Rally.

"Both. They ought to tussle. If they share, nobody gets enough."

"You think winner should take all?"

"Why not? What's the point of winning if it don't get you what you want?"

"What about people who aren't strong enough to fight for what they need?"

"Who the hell's talking about people?"

"No one," said Rally after a pause.

"You can fight, girl. So can I. We can get our cut and more besides. Who gives a damn about anybody else?"

"Bean, the whole reason I'm doing this is to help people who can't defend themselves as easily as I can! That's the only legitimate use of force."

"Tell it to the guys you shoot. Ya know, Vincent, I reckon you've killed about eighteen, twenty people. All legitimate, of course."

"Yes." Rally set her teeth on edge.

"Self-defense, huh?"

"Mostly, yes. A few times, to save someone else's life."

"I saw you kill someone the first time I met you. My client, matter of fact. Ya shot her right in the face."

"She had just tried to cut my throat with razor wire and was firing a shotgun at me. I didn't have much choice!"

"Didn't say you had."

"So how many people have _you_ killed, Bean?"

"Had to take care of a few." He folded his arms. From her perch his face wasn't easy to make out. "Didn't shoot none of them."

"You don't touch guns. I guess you prefer to keep it hand-to-hand. You don't even really need a knife—you could strangle someone or snap a neck as fast as I can shoot. Couldn't you?"

His right fist balled under his elbow. "I don't touch guns, because I don't pick fights, babe. If they come to me, I take care of it, but that ain't what I get paid for. I just drive."

"You don't care what the people who hire you are doing? Do you really believe you can take money earned from their crimes and still remain neutral? If you make it possible for someone to commit robbery or murder and escape, you're an accessory. There's a reason the law punishes that. It's wrong!"

"When I decide to go straight, girl, you can be my goddamn guardian angel." Bean let out a sneering laugh, and Rally made a face at him from her perch. "Keeping it legal makes everybody happy, win or lose?"

"Well...I didn't mean to talk about _legality!_ I'm trying to do what's RIGHT!"

"You gonna be content if you don't get your way on this job, if you can't do it on the straight and sweet?"

"Well, no...but it's going just fine at the moment!"

"Sure, just dandy. You got the bastard on a string and all you got to do is reel him in." Bean's tone wasn't overtly sarcastic, but she could hear a deep strain of ingrown cynicism, something that expected nothing to be given that hadn't been bought and paid for. "I s'pose Brown don't mind losin' a hand, long as it's done right, hey?"

"He didn't lose a hand! Just...well, it looked like the middle three fingers went. I was aiming at the revolver, not him."

"And he's gonna return the favor by givin' you a present? All the rest of him on a platter, just like yer old pal Gray!"

"Look, he's not a psycho like Gray! I don't suppose he likes me for doing that to him, but he sounds like he's capable of sense!"

At the eastern end of the meadow, a small child ran out from the woods with a balloon and pelted down the path towards them with the string trailing behind him. The balloon bobbed along in time with his strides. A woman with a stroller followed a few paces after him.

The child shrieked merrily, waving his arms, then saw Bean and stopped short. The balloon caught up and hovered above the plump baby fist, trembling slightly.

"Hey, kid." Bean chuckled and leaned against the tree with his hands in his jacket pockets.

The mother approached with a wary smile and put out a hand for the child to take. "Come on, honey. We'll go around the other way."

The child clasped his mother's hand, but didn't move, still staring at Bean. Rally could see only the rear quarter of Bean's face and the trailing sweep of his hair. From the set of his jaw, it looked like he was smiling. The child examined him with the undivided interest of the very young, his mouth open.

"Big!" He pointed at Bean.

"Yes, honey," said his mother with an uneasy glance. "Come with Mama, sweetheart." The child smiled at Bean and held out his balloon.

"Thanks, man, but it looks better on you," said Bean.

At that moment, Rally caught a movement at the western end of the meadow, about fifty yards away. A man—someone she knew. Compact, deft, a fast runner. He jumped to catch a branch and shimmied up an oak. A long black rifle was slung on his back and a balaclava covered his head.

"Bean!" she hissed. "O'Toole!"

The mother looked wide-eyed in her direction, but didn't spot her in the tree. Bean turned his head slowly, his eyes scanning back and forth.

"To the west, in the oak with one dead branch. He's getting out an assault rifle."

"Got it." Bean scanned for another moment. "Can't see him."

"I don't think he's seen you either."

O'Toole straddled the crotch of the tree and swept the rifle and scope from side to side. He paused on the mother and stopped on the child.

The back of Rally's neck prickled. "Oh, geez—he's checking out your little friend."

"Lady, get the hell out of here." For a moment Rally thought Bean was talking to her. But he turned to the mother, who looked blankly at him.

Bean strode forward, picked up the child and thrust him into the woman's arms. "Run, goddammit." His voice had an urgency she had seldom heard. "Run!" His sharp canines gnashed.

The child drew a deep shocked breath and wailed, throwing his arms around his mother's neck. The woman spun around, knocked over the stroller and fled. Floating free from the child's grasp, the balloon vanished into the sky.

"Stupid broad," said Bean.

"That's torn it. He's spotted you." O'Toole snapped his rifle to the ready, the scope on Bean.

Bean moved back into the woods and looked up at her. "Can ya pick him off from here?"

"Right between the eyes, if it comes to that." Rally leveled her CZ75 through the foliage.

O'Toole spoke into a mic in his hand and tucked the rifle into the crook of his arm; she let out a tense breath. "Looks like he's just on guard."

Two more figures emerged from the woods near O'Toole—a slim man in a business suit and a big, stocky man in a leather coat. The slim man's blonde head shone in the sunlight: Brown and his driver, Manichetti.

"Here comes Brown. Damn! I told him to leave those two behind. Why's he brought them along?"

"Doesn't surprise me any."

"This doesn't bode well. He's expecting trouble."

"He'd be damn stupid not to." Bean cracked his knuckles as Brown and Manichetti approached.

"Bean, don't spook him!" If he made even one threatening move towards Brown, the whole negotiation might collapse in a hail of gunfire. "Keep your cool. Remember that money!"

"Shit..." growled Bean, but he folded his arms again and moved behind her tree. Rally waited until the men were a few yards past the tree before she dropped to the ground in a crouch. Brown and Manichetti stopped short and turned to look for the source of the sound. With a deep breath, she holstered her CZ75 and stood up.

"Hey, I thought you were being careful!" said Bean in a loud whisper.

"I am. If I have to be the first one to show good faith, so be it." Rally stepped forward. "Hello, Brown."

Manichetti made a gesture at the shoulder holster vaguely outlined under his leather car coat. Brown spread his hands, the right one encased in a plastic cast, and smiled at her from behind a fashionably small pair of sunglasses, his eyes visible through the lenses in the bright light of the meadow.

"Hello, Rally."

"You here to talk or shoot?"

"Talk, of course." He made a politely confused expression, holding out the maimed hand. "I'm not even able to fire a gun. This is a peaceful negotiation."

"What are O'Toole's orders, then?"

Brown closed his eyes with a sighing smile. "He's only insurance. I've told him to hold his position and hold his fire. By the way, this is Mr. Manichetti, my driver."

"I know." Rally took a careful look at Manichetti, but his big jowly face was blank and he held his hands at his sides. A cordless earphone looped over his ear, half concealed in his dark curly hair.

"I told you not to bring them."

"I know, and I apologize. It's not that I don't trust you—as I said, I've obtained background information on you and I know you're a woman of honor. It's your current partner I'm concerned about. Where is he, by the way?"

"Right here," said Bean.

She heard the heavy crack of a fallen branch under his boot. He moved from behind the oak to stand out to her side, twenty feet away so that the two of them flanked Brown and Manichetti. "Hey, asshole."

Brown's whole body tensed, but he kept his smile. "Now, is that any way to talk to someone who has half a million dollars to give you?"

"I don't see it nowhere."

"You didn't expect me to stroll casually through the park with that suitcase, did you?" said Brown with a laugh. "Let's decide terms first, and then I can fetch the money. Who knows, I might be able to scare up rather more than half a million, given a little—"

"Stuff it! It'll be a cold day in hell—"

"Bean!" hissed Rally. "Will you shut up and let me handle this!" He shot her a fierce look, but said no more.

Brown raised a brow, his mouth quirking.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm willing to set aside what's happened. So is Bean, even if he can't resist a little trash talk. I will guarantee to deliver you safely to the FBI, even if the Dragons are watching you."

"They are. Not directly—but they are keeping track of my movements. I can't stay long without incurring suspicion, since I'm supposed to be heading to a meeting. But I'm as determined to work this out as you are, Rally. A great deal depends on it—not least, my life."

Brown approached her as he spoke and took off his sunglasses when he passed into the shade.

Her eyes widened in surprise at his extraordinary good looks. The expensive Italian gray silk suit he wore fit him perfectly and set off every aspect of his clear-cut face and well-conditioned body. Slightly full, sensual lips and large eyes suggested youthful sweetness, but his strong straight nose and firm chin reinforced his charm with definite masculinity. She hadn't registered it when he had snarled with fear and pain in a dark warehouse, face spattered with his own blood and bone, but she had never before met such a handsome man.

"...Of course," she said after a pause that hung just a moment too long. She had a sense of being put off balance by the unexpected, though why a man's face should have that effect on her she really couldn't say. It was something like the way Bean's presence sometimes perturbed her, but with a malignant undertone entirely different. Brown's face concealed something; it was this hidden aspect that disturbed her, not his beauty nor his poise.

The quick impression of first meeting rapidly faded, however, leaving her with only his outward brilliance to contemplate. What had that little shudder of perception been? Now she saw nothing but a graceful, slender man with high cheekbones and a pleasant smile.

"What a stroke of luck that I should have encountered you." Brown came close enough to put out his left hand to shake hers. "The perfect person to solve my dilemma."

Manichetti hung back with his gaze on Bean. Bean stared at Brown and her, then reached into his jacket. Manichetti looked at the dead-branched oak with a start, but Bean only brought out his sunglasses and put them on with a humorless smirk. Brown seemed oblivious to the entire exchange, his quick-moving, smiling turquoise eyes scanning her. Rally examined his face with reluctant fascination. A nice tan, not too dark, his skin smooth with only the accent of laugh lines around his eyes. His sunstreaked dark-blonde hair swept off his high forehead in flawless waves, with just the right amount of casual disarray.

All right, maybe she could detect a few hints of plastic surgery if she looked hard, but it was beautiful plastic surgery. He seemed eerily perfect from every angle. With the obvious exception of the ruined hand. For once in her life, she felt regret for defacing a human work of art. He was in the prime of life in his late thirties. Larry Sam was an attractive young man with a promising future, but Sylvester Brown was a fully realized masterpiece. A master criminal, she reminded herself. He wasn't the best-looking businessman she'd ever seen, but a murderous drug dealer.

"Sure. Let's lay out our conditions."

"How interesting." Brown looked intently at her face while still holding her hand. "Your eyes aren't brown; they're blue. Not contact lenses."

"...No."

"Midnight blue, I'd call them. So dark it's hard to tell the shade until they catch the sun." He tilted his face with a contemplative smile, his voice gentle. "How lovely."

"Uhhh...thanks." She extracted her hand from Brown's, her pulse beating hard in her throat. For some reason, good-looking men were hitting on her today! What was up? Considering the circles she moved in back home, she knew how to fend off impolite masculine interest, but California seemed to be populated with smooth operators. Of course, a man like Brown probably tried his charm on every woman he met just on general principles.

"I want your assurance that you're going to testify against the Dragons. That's my reason for doing this."

"And that is my intention, Rally. No argument there."

"Oh, and Bean wants that suitcase, of course." She shrugged. "Five hundred large, in cash."

"Of course. I don't intend to argue numbers, Rally. My conditions are also simple...but I think I had better discuss them with you alone, huh?"

He made a motion of the eyes to indicate Bean, who stood behind him with a scowl visible even under his sunglasses. "Considering their nature."

"I'm not going to leave him out—"

"No, no." Brown smiled. "Let's just retreat a few yards into the trees out of earshot. Your partner can still keep an eye on you, if that's what you want him to do."

"I can take care of myself."

"Very true." He turned to nod at Manichetti, then took her arm and began to usher her into the woods.

"Hey!" shouted Bean, and they halted. "Where the _fuck_ are you going with her, dickface?"

Rally spun around. "Bean, keep a lid on it! I'm trying to TALK—"

"Better watch your ASS, girl!"

"Ohh!" She stamped her foot. "I don't _believe_ you!"

"Mr. Bandit," said Brown, "I get the impression you aren't as willing to see reason as Ms. Vincent believes."

"Shit! You trick me, you try to get me shot, you make me crash my goddamn LS-7 'Vette, you start smearin' your slime all over that girl, and you want me to see REASON? Give me _one_ freakin' reason—"

"Not to lose your temper and put a knife into my back here and now? All right, I will." Brown turned around. "Has it occurred to you, Mr. Bandit, that I have information you would find useful? After all, the Dragons want to recruit you, by any means necessary."

"So he finally comes out and says it, hey?" snarled Bean. "You already blew it, dickface! Why should I give a shit about the Dragons?"

"Oh, they won't terminate their efforts just because I failed. I can tell you what tactics they are likely to use in future, and how to defend yourself against them. They have a great deal of background information on you, and as a result of independent research, I have even more that I haven't turned over to them." He smiled. "Now there's something you will find interesting, at the very least. I know _everything_ about you, down to the smallest detail; I know exactly who you are, 'Bean Bandit'."

"So fucking what?" Bean laughed. "Here I am."

"_Ecce homo._ Sufficient unto yourself, huh?" Brown flashed his white teeth in a smile that came very close to mockery. "Can you tell me the names of your parents?"

Bean's face fell slack; for a moment he seemed shocked into silence. He snapped off his sunglasses, his eyes as cold as she had ever seen them. "What's that got to do with the price of cheese in China?"

"Exactly. I know even the trivial facts of your life, the least important, most irrelevant—"

"What the hell? You think you know who my _parents_ are?" Bean took a deep angry breath. "Bullshit!"

"Ah." Brown grinned. "How would you prove me wrong?"

"How would you prove it any way at all, asshole? Quit jerking my chain, or you're gonna find there's a freakin' junkyard dog on the other end!"

"Bean," said Rally in desperation, "will you please calm—"

"Good point." Brown chuckled. "I may be the only person in the world who has amassed all this information and has put two and two together. How can anyone cross-check a unique piece of knowledge?"

"I don't give a shit." Bean's nose wrinkled, his teeth showing. "One of these days, Brown. I don't care if you hide behind the FBI, the DEA, the whole freakin' government, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna rip that cocksucking smile off your stinkin' plastic face!"

"_Bean!"_ Rally strode towards him, jammed her hands against his chest and pushed him backwards until he stopped against an oak. "Will you shut up for _five minutes?"_ She tried to keep her voice too low for Brown and Manichetti to hear, but she was so angry it wasn't easy. "You don't like him, fine! But unless you sit on that temper, you will never get that money!"

"Rrrrr..." said Bean over her shoulder at Brown, reminding her of a growling mastiff.

"And knock off the macho-man protection racket! He's never going to get anywhere with me! It's only his way of talking to women; I can tell."

"Babe, he does it to _anyone,"_ said Bean. "Cocksucker."

"Oh, spare me! You telling me you want to kill him because he complimented your manly biceps or something?"

"I don't give a shit if he did." Bean curled his lip. "He ain't tryin' to get into my jeans. He's tryin' to get into my _head."_

Rally glanced over at Brown, who waited quietly with a relaxed smile, hands in trouser pockets. "Yes, you have a point. But getting angry will only let him see what pushes your buttons. You're doing a great job of showing him!"

Bean sagged slightly, shaking his head in frustration. "Dammit...there's just something about him." Palms up, he gestured with a hint of confusion. "He makes me crazy!"

"I haven't got a clue what you're talking about. He's being a hell of a lot more civil than you are! Were you raised in a barn?"

"Shit!" He rolled an angry look up into the treetops, his lips tight.

"Boy, that's a hot button right there! Who _were_ your parents, Bean? Why would Brown be interested in them?"

"I don't have a freakin' clue."

"About which?"

"Both."

"You mean...you don't know who your parents are?"

Bean grimaced.

"But...you didn't just _appear. _You were a kid once. Who raised you?"

"The freakin' state of Illinois."

"Oh." She wasn't sure if she should feel sympathetic or simply consider his lack of civilization accounted for. "Well, that's...um, interesting, but I can't see why Brown should bring that up."

"Why don't ya ask him?" Bean rolled his eyes with a sarcastic air.

Rally glared at her partner with gritted teeth. "I'm going to go talk to him, and _you_ are going to stand here and keep your mouth shut, understand? Don't make a move, don't say a word until I tell you to! I said I would get you that money, and I'm trying to keep my promise. Don't make me regret it so much I call the whole thing off!"

"I ain't too worried about that, babe. You know well as I do that you ain't gonna go back on a handshake."

Rally made a face at him and returned to Brown. "Sorry about that. He's got hold of himself now."

"Really." They walked a few yards into the woods. "How can you tell?"

"Well, I..." She tried to swallow her anger. Having to apologize for Bean when she herself stood to lose the most if he lost control? That was worse than any personal insult he had given her!

"Just how well do you know him, Rally? After this little display, I'm wondering about the solidity of your partnership and your prospects of long-term influence over him. You did make a guarantee that he'll permanently forget his grudge. That, of course, is the primary condition under which I will give myself up."

"That suitcase will do the trick. I think he's angry you didn't bring it with you to this meeting."

"Afraid he'll be cheated? You can assure him he won't be. I've certainly learned my lesson in that regard. Security will be cheap at the price."

"Once he's got that money in his hands, I'm sure his disposition will improve! He already promised me he wouldn't kill you, and I intend to enforce that promise."

"So I will buy his forgiveness, and you will insure that it stays bought." Brown took a deep, skeptical breath and let it out through his nostrils. "Is that _all_ you have to offer me?"

"Uhh..." Rally's mind raced, her eyes darting back and forth.

"Can you give me anything more solid?" Brown pulled in his lips and looked out towards the meadow, past the dark figures of Bean and Manichetti silhouetted against the bright scene beyond. The men smoked cigarettes and looked daggers at each other.

"I'm disappointed. I called you because I thought you were in a unique position to help me. I will have to count on the FBI to protect me from the Dragons, of course, but I don't think they will be a problem. Ordinary precautions should suffice. But Bandit...he's a monster."

He looked at her, but she couldn't muster a plausible denial. "When his guard's up, he's nearly invulnerable, and he's the most determined tracker I've ever encountered. I _have_ to know he won't come after me. I simply can't take any chances with my family. Perhaps I should consider refuge in Europe instead...the FBI will have to do without me."

The blood drained from Rally's face as she saw her plans collapsing. All this—violence, wreck, her besieged emotions, for nothing? Would it all end in failure, simply because Bean looked scary, stuck to his objectives, and had a tendency to say exactly what he thought? That last wasn't a fault of Brown's by a long shot—his orotund diction sounded as if he had written out every statement ahead of time.

"Perhaps you can reassure me. How does Bean feel about you, Rally?"

"Feel about me?" The blood returned to her cheeks, hot and pulsing. "Wha—what do you mean?"

"He's exhibiting some signs of proprietary interest in you. Is this merely because you are partners, or is there some more profound reason?" Brown's voice was soft, encouraging.

"Um...well, I don't know if it's all that _profound_ a reason!"

"Ah." Brown pursed his lips slightly. "A lovely young woman working closely with such an id-driven male. It must be a chore keeping him at arm's length." His crinkle-eyed grin was friendly and confidential.

"That's putting it mildly." She laughed a little shakily. Brown kept his pleasant smile, and Rally suddenly stopped laughing. He was fishing again...and this time she was nibbling at the bait. What did he really want to know?

"N-nothing's happened. We're only working together." Admit how close she had come to disaster, flat on her back on a motel bed? Never, not even with the whole job at stake!

"Merely a professional relationship?" Brown shook his head. "I was hoping you had more of a hold on him than that. This doesn't sound promising."

"Oh no? He takes his professional commitments very seriously!"

"How do you know that?"

"He kept his word on a bet, Brown—he promised to do something he would never have done willingly otherwise, and he's gone to a lot of trouble to keep faith. For no other reason than honor. He'll keep his word about not killing you."

"A bet?" Brown's eyes had a veiled gleam. "With you?"

"Yes, with me. It had to do, uh, with his work."

"How very interesting. Please clarify."

"I...well, I don't think I'm at liberty—"

Brown turned away with an annoyed sigh. "Your discretion does you credit, but I would suggest that you try to see your way clear to giving me some solid information!" He turned his head in Manichetti's direction, and the driver checked his watch. "I don't have much time, Ms. Vincent, in every sense of the word."

Rally stole a look at Bean. He kept his eyes on her as he leaned against a tree, one hand in his pocket and one knee bent, his boot sole against the trunk. To her surprise, he lifted his chin and smiled tentatively at her, then gave her a thumbs-up with his cigarette between his fingers. He trusted her to pull this off. If everything fell apart because she kept a little secret of his, he'd pay dearly for his privacy!

"All right, Brown. I'll tell you. I demanded that he stop running drugs. He told me he would if I could stop him from doing his next run, all on my own. I won the bet."

Brown turned around. "Please, Rally, call me Sly." She didn't reply, her heart pounding. Had she just made a mistake? "I see. And he's kept his word to you on this matter?"

"Yes, ever since. This happened about nine months ago and he's never broken his promise. That's why he was so angry at you for tricking him."

Brown's lips parted, the tip of his tongue touching the even white line of his teeth. His eyes glazed over for a moment. She had the feeling that he was suppressing some strong emotion, but it looked more like joy than anything else. His voice stayed cool. "I wonder if that bet is truly indicative of his _professional_ behavior."

"Of course it is! He always keeps his contracts to the letter. You must know that, if you've done so much research on him!"

"But Rally, why would he make such a bet with you in the first place? Why put himself in such a vulnerable position? He threw away at least half his business as a result, if my information is correct. Wouldn't you say that was a touch extreme?"

"He...he doesn't like drugs either. And he said that if he won, I would have to stay out of his business for good!"

"But he transported drugs for many years before you made this demand of yours, and earned a great deal of money doing so." Brown chuckled. "It's difficult to avoid the conclusion...that he did all this for your sake."

"It was a gamble! He wanted to get me out of his hair! He never thought he would lose—he can be awfully overconfident—"

"And so he has linked himself ever more closely to you. You hold the key to him, my dear, even if you don't realize it." He gave her a slow, heavy-lidded smile. "Apparently I did call the right person."

"Are you saying...you think that _I_..."

"Oh, no, no! I've developed far too high an opinion of you for that!" Brown laughed out loud and Bean straightened up, scowling. Rally didn't think he could hear the conversation, but that laugh rang through the trees like a rifle report.

"What an idea!" Brown wiped a tear of hilarity from the corner of one eye, still chuckling. "You, longing for the tender embraces of Bean Bandit? Heh, heh..."

Her face burned.

"No, of course I'm speaking of _his_ attachment to _you_. I'm looking at things from Mr. Bandit's perspective, not yours." Brown turned to glance at Bean.

"In his own way, he respects you very much and accords you special, nay unique, status. This must be far more profound than a simple desire to have you. Obviously he's a member of the male sex, and as such, he is aware that you are a very attractive woman. I would think many women have struck him that way. But for which of them would he sacrifice several hundred thousand dollars in annual income?"

Brown nodded like a sage. "The verdict is a fair one, I think."

Rally drew a deep breath that seemed to tighten every fiber in her body. Looking at Bean again, she felt as if a strange new lens had intervened in her vision's path, pulling him into painfully sharp focus. A hard-headed criminal who cared so much for her good opinion that he would throw away the thing he liked best: money. All of a sudden his insistence that he owned the entire $500,000 in Brown's suitcase seemed less greedy, more reasonable. She wasn't any more inclined to give him his way, but it was hard to think badly of him for persisting.

Bean caught her gaze. His face moved in a questioning tilt as she stared into his eyes from fifteen yards off.

Rally bit her lip. Frankly, she'd been treating him like crap—playing with his emotions while denying to herself that he even had them. No wonder he had exploded at her in the restaurant. His coarse vocabulary put their entire relationship in purely sexual terms, but he had been telling her something more than that whether he had intended to or not. He probably hadn't formed the thought, and she didn't want to. Even to herself, she could not say the word. It didn't seem applicable to Bean. It didn't even seem to exist in the same universe as him.

Brown's turquoise gaze stayed fixed on her. Suddenly she realized he was waiting for an answer, for confirmation. How much of this could she tell him?

"He...well, all right, Bean has some kind of feelings for me." That much she couldn't deny, and under the circumstances, she didn't want to deny it unequivocally. Brown apparently needed to hear it from her before he'd feel secure. "He told me a little while ago that he, um, that he'd wanted me ever since he met me."

She thought about the previous night. _I'm gonna fuck you so good..._ Five minutes later, he had left her cold and flat, with a peculiar warmth in his eyes.

"It's, um, OK, it's a little more than that because we've been through a lot together. He trusts me and he knows I won't sell him out. I guess he doesn't extend that to many people. Um, maybe not to anyone else. He's not a man who gives his trust easily."

A very strange smile flashed across that perfect blonde face. Fierce, grimacing, triumphant at the same time. Brown gripped his hands into fists so tightly that his whole body trembled. The plastic cast buckled audibly.

"Uhhh...are you all right, um, Sly?"

"Perfectly," he said, releasing his clenched hands with a gasp. "I'm...this is excellent news. Exactly what I hoped for. I don't see any obstacles to an agreement now." He put his left hand up to his face and exhaled hard. "Forgive me. The last few days have been a strain. I see the light emerging at the end of a very dark tunnel."

"I'm glad," said Rally with heartfelt sincerity. "Really I am. Look, why don't we just take you to Bean's car and deliver you to the FBI right now? You'll be safe then and you can relax."

"Ah, but it would be difficult to retrieve the money if I left now, wouldn't it?" Brown smiled. "Mustn't forget, Mr. Bandit's priorities lie in a different realm from yours, Rally. It wouldn't do to disappoint him."

"No." She realized that she hadn't given Bean's interests much thought yet. "Did you mean what you said about _more_ than half a million?"

"I assume you've asked him to give up some of that money in return for your help."

"That's between the two of us."

"Of course. I will guarantee the half million as a minimum since it's the original amount agreed upon. Anything else I can get will be extra insurance towards your partner's happiness, so you can be sure I will do my best."

"That's fine with me."

"I have to go." Brown put his left hand on her arm. "I'll call you again later to work out the details of my actual defection. Five at the latest. Until then..."

He cast a covert glance at Bean. "Good luck with him, my dear. I could see right away that he entertains an attraction to you—perfectly understandable, of course, but I wasn't sure of its extent without inquiring more closely. Although it serves my purposes, I hope he doesn't impose it on you too energetically. Of course you can take care of yourself, as you say. But consider, Rally..."

His voice dropped to a solicitous whisper. "If I, who can afford the best protection money can buy, am not sure of my personal security where Bean Bandit is concerned, what precautions must _you_ take? If the warmth of banked desire heats into frustrated anger, how safe will you be when his lust bursts into full flame?"

Brown certainly didn't overestimate Bean's sense of honor. Her eyes narrowed. "Safer than any woman you've met in your life, Brown." She patted her holster through her jacket.

"Good," he said. "Remember, my name is Sly. I'd like to give you something...a little gift of appreciation. May I?"

"Such as?"

"Information on your partner's background. It's burning a hole in my pocket anyway, so to speak. It can't serve its original purpose now, so it might as well serve you."

"...All right."

"I'll just give you the condensed version, since I'm pressed for time." Manichetti made a timeout signal. Brown consulted a platinum Rolex on his left wrist and spoke rapidly.

"He was born in 1970, an illegitimate child given up for adoption at birth. Although he was placed with a married couple, he soon ended up in the custody of the Illinois child welfare department, having been abandoned in a race-track parking lot south of Marion. No one could trace his origin, and he was too young, or too stubborn, to tell the authorities who he was. Although he was three years old at the time, his age was estimated as five, based on his size and development, and so his legal birthdate is 1968.

"No one was willing to adopt him again, due to his racially mixed heritage and his rambunctious disposition. He grew up in a series of foster homes, one of which was headed by an auto mechanic with a taste for building high-performance hot rods. At the age of twelve—legally fourteen, and already standing six foot two, he left the group home in which he was living and struck out on his own. He disappears from all records until 1986, when he began to gain a reputation as a drag-racer around Chicago. He won enough money in illegal street betting to set himself up in business as a courier in 1989."

"Nineteen years old." She had been nineteen when she had started running the gun shop with a license that claimed she was two years older.

"Yes, though he believed he was twenty-one. In the last ten years he has made a considerable name for himself in the Chicago underworld, and his fame as a professionally reliable, peerlessly fast freelance driver has spread to most of the organizations operating in the United States and eastern Canada. He eats like a famished wolfpack, he consumes gallons of alcohol, he smokes constantly and rampages through inexpensive whorehouses with great energy. But of course you know that part. Do you have any questions I might answer?"

She didn't know that part—the one about the whorehouses. Something cold passed through her, even though the assertion didn't seem to fit Bean. "Racially mixed, huh? So who are his parents?"

"Ah, well, that's a long story." Brown grinned. "I have a file folder two inches thick. Government agency records, medical records, newspaper clippings, transcripts of interviews. I left no stone unturned, or so I thought. Somehow I missed...you."

"Very interesting." And highly edited with a lot of crucial points left out. "Is any of it true?"

Brown's smile faded slightly. "You'd have to ask him that."

"When he doesn't even know himself?" That hadn't come out quite right. Of course Bean knew himself—but if Brown was correct, Bean didn't even know how old he was. The implications of such a childhood began to seep through her mind, leaving a hollow feeling in her chest. "Someone dumped him in a parking lot when he was three years old?"

Brown shrugged. "It seems he had been severely abused—he was covered with bruises—and possibly starved. The ill effects of childhood violence have a tendency to follow one through life, alas." He shook his head in what must have been feigned sorrow. "Growing up without love or even proper care inflicts irreparable damage on the strongest of us. When there's no foundation for attachment to other humans, what can one build on?"

"Maybe so." But Brown had just been elated to find that Bean had an attachment to her. Was he only warning her further on the possible dangers of that? "I think I'd pay more attention to what someone's like as an adult."

"Exactly," said Brown with a subtle smile. "The child is father to the man. Which is why I spent so much time learning the facts of Mr. Bandit's early years." He began to walk back towards Manichetti and the edge of the woods. Rally followed him.

"You've memorized them all?"

"In infinite detail. If I had a couple of hours, I could lay it all out for you. I'm a born raconteur."

Or a born bullshit artist. She had never heard a voice that loved the sound of itself so damn much. Had he twisted the facts to fit his purposes or pulled the whole saga out of his well-shaped ass? Some of it fit with what she knew and with what Bean had said. The rest...was possible. She was definitely going to have to check this out somehow.

They had walked within Bean's earshot now, so the private conversation was over. "Thanks, Sly. It sounds good. I'll call the Feds. Will you let me give you some tactical suggestions on your defection?"

"Certainly. I'll call later this evening, about five o'clock, but we probably shouldn't meet again until it's time. I've already pushed my window to the limit."

They halted ten feet from Bean, who straightened up and looked at her, with an occasional flick of the eyes in Brown's direction. "Bean, it's all worked out except for the getaway plan. I can count on you and Buff for that?"

"Yeah," said Bean, his voice neutral. "No problem."

"Excellent," said Brown. "Be seeing you." He shook Rally's hand and glanced at Bean.

"Go on," she said when Bean didn't move. "Shake on it."

"I'm gonna have to decline," said Bean, still in neutral. "Sorry."

Brown waved away the beginning of her expostulation, nodded to Manichetti, and turned to go. At the edge of the green grass, where the sun took over from the shade of the trees, he looked back at Rally with a heavy-lidded glance of turquoise eyes. "Again, good luck." He slid the glance over to Bean, and smiled. "Every one of us."

When the pair reached the oak with one dead branch, O'Toole dropped to the ground and followed them into the distant line of woods.

* * *

"We need a hotel, Bean." Rally got into Buff's passenger seat and looked at its driver. He sat with his door open, one foot on the brake and the other on the gas pedal, revving the engine with deadly regularity. He had walked far ahead of her on the way back to the car and nearly lost her around a turn, stalking along the roadside path with rapid strides as she ran to keep up.

By the time she reached Buff, he had unlocked the car and turned on the ignition. He now sat feeding fuel to the giant powerplant and listening to the deep rumble of the idling pistons and big twin exhausts as if it were a soothing meditation. His face was still frozen in a blank scowl.

"Yeah."

"Somewhere near that pier, I think, if there are any hotels in that neighborhood."

"So we'll look." He slammed his door, let out the parking brake and backed out of the bushes, then spun Buff in a tight 180 and drove out on the main road.

Heading east, they took a left on a larger divided street and emerged from the tall eucalyptuses of the park into a neighborhood of elegant old four-story houses and apartments. Bean continued north along Park Presidio, signs pointing the way to the Golden Gate Bridge.

Rally watched his face. Obviously seeing Brown had rattled him, but she couldn't put the job off simply because her partner was in a foul mood.

"Can I ask you a question, Bean?"

"Spit it out."

"Do you know anything about having been abandoned in a parking lot at the age of three?"

He stared at her, his expression finally changing: not for the better. "Where the hell did you hear that?"

"From Brown. He told me some things about you that he said he'd dug up here and there, and I want to know if he was lying."

"Shit," said Bean, with meaning.

"He didn't tell me who your parents were, if you're wondering. I did ask."

"What the hell for?"

"Uh...I thought you might like to know..."

"Not from him, I don't!" Bean stepped on the gas and shot Buff through a yellow light.

"Sorry!" Rally threw up her hands. "I was trying to do you a favor!"

"Oh yeah? Weren't you just lookin' for dirt on me?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that I might like to know who I'm dealing with? It's not like you've ever told me a thing about your history."

"You oughta be askin' the bastard about _himself_, not about me. _He's_ the one you gotta worry about!"

"You think he would've answered me?"

"Nope. But it makes a lot more sense than wondering about stuff that happened a long time ago."

"Look, Bean, I'm trying to find out if he was just spinning tales for his own purposes, or if he was telling the truth. Doesn't _that _make sense?"

"Aw, _shit_..." Bean growled, showing his teeth. There was a long pause as he turned right off Park Presidio onto Geary, dodging bicyclists and several pink-haired teenage pedestrians. "Some cop found me in a parking lot, yeah. But I wasn't three, I was five."

"According to Brown, you were only three. You were so big they thought you were older. He said you were born in 1970."

Bean gave her an odd look. "I don't remember it anyway. Somebody used to tell me she'd take me back there if I didn't behave. Like a freakin' stray dog."

"One of your foster parents?"

Bean only grunted in reply.

No one had ever wanted him...according to Brown. Could that be true? Could he have grown up without a single devoted person in his life? That might well make him ravenous for the physical equivalent of affection. But it was also likely he would never have developed much emotional capacity. Rally wondered how much he really had. The difference between callousness and habitual reserve wasn't always easy to tell. She'd had a brief sense of insight into his motives when Brown had claimed Bean loved her.

There—that word. It made no sense applied to Bean, but he wasn't devoid of better feeling. He responded to children at the very least. Someone had nurtured a spark of human kindness in the tough young stray, oversize for his age and spurned like a dog.

"OK, well, he said you were in foster care until you were fourteen...or twelve, if he's right about your age. Then you ran away and became a drag racer."

"Yeah, that's about right. Damn, I was twelve?" Bean suddenly laughed. "I was a braver little snot than I thought."

"All on your own, at twelve?"

"Aaah, I got along. Shit, that'd mean I'm only twenty-nine. I got kinda pissed about turnin' thirty, and now I got to do it all over again."

"Consider the alternative!"

"Never turnin' thirty?" He chuckled again. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Do you know anything about the family that adopted you?"

Bean stopped laughing. "Nobody adopted me."

"Yes, someone did right after you were born." By now it seemed that Brown had gotten it right. "But I guess they didn't treat you well, if you ended up starving in a parking lot. You'd been beaten, too, so they must have been awful parents. If they were the ones who did it, that is."

"Did he say that?"

"No, he didn't say a word about them. Which is strange, because he should have been able to find out everything about them. He said he had copies of all kinds of documents pertaining to you."

Bean snarled. "Great. That's just the kinda thing I want gettin' around." He chewed his jaw back and forth for a moment. "He say anything about what I was up to besides drag racin'?"

"No. He said you disappeared from the record for years. What were you doing?"

"Aw...stuff," said Bean. "Long time ago now." He fell silent for several minutes, looking out the windshield with a thoughtful expression as he drove towards downtown.

"Did...do you remember anyone who took good care of you?"

"Yeah, I guess they tried." He seemed lost in reminiscence. "The people they sent me to, I mean. Not like I was easy to handle."

"That doesn't surprise me. I meant, do you remember anyone who really, um, loved you...?"

Instantly she regretted that she'd asked. Bean's expression darkened until his scar nearly disappeared in heavy scowl lines. His eyes went icy.

"What the hell do you want to know that for?"

"No...no reason. Sorry."

"Stay outta my frickin' head, Vincent. I don't need shit from both ends!" He twisted away and accelerated around a left turn.

The subject had closed, probably for good. Rally kept her eyes on Bean for a little while, then turned and watched rooftops slip by against the bright sky, her vision blurring. Surely there was no reason to cry for a child who had armored himself against every kind of pain, the original bruises having vanished with the passage of twenty-six years.

* * *

"Which one of 'em is gonna kill the other one?" Manichetti started the engine of a long black Jaguar parked on a side street veiled by trees.

"Does it matter?" Brown laughed and flopped into the back seat as O'Toole held the door for him.

"No sir." O'Toole grinned through the slit in his balaclava. "I can always take care of the other one for ye, sir. I'd count it a privilege to put a slug through either the wee slut or that mooncalf eejit of hers. Near broke my bleedin' heart to see the bitch pussy-whip any man like that, be he ever so big an' dumb!"

"Yeah, he might have the edge in a fight, hey?" said Manichetti.

"I'd say they were about evenly matched. Mr. Bandit has the edge in strength and sheer determination, and Ms. Vincent has speed and firepower." Brown took off his suit jacket. "I imagine his skull is a hard one, but a shot at close range would penetrate it handily. It might not kill him instantaneously—he's possessed of enough animal energy to throttle someone even when fatally wounded. I can imagine a scenario in which they might kill each other simultaneously. That has possibilities."

O'Toole got into the front passenger seat and closed the door. Manichetti pulled away from the curb and merged smoothly into traffic. Brown lay back on the leather cushions, his left hand over his eyes and an exhausted smile on his face.

"That young woman is certainly more cautious than her age would warrant, though a tad too eager to succeed. This is proving an interesting challenge."

"Looks even hotter in the flesh," said Manichetti. "You sure he ain't screwed her yet? He was acting jealous as a pup."

"I honestly don't know, though I'm inclined to think not. It's not crucial." He held up a finger, waggling it in the air with his eyes still closed, his voice taking on a professorial tone. "The important thing is the bond of trust between them. It's not as strong on her side as it is on his, but it definitely exists. Despite surface appearances, they are acting as a unit, defending each other from behind a citadel of mutual regard. The neighbors can hear the domestic squabbles, but so far the fort is solid." Brown opened his eyes and grinned nastily. "I've planted a few mines under the wall, I think. With luck, some of them are going off right now."

"Man, that was funny, when you made that crack about her 'longin' for his embrace'!" Manichetti took the cordless receiver out of his ear. "Sure was hard to keep a straight face—that ugly bastard."

"Oh, thank you for the reminder," said Brown, removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled his shirttails out of his trousers, revealing a miniature transmitter and antenna wrapped around his waist and taped to his ribs. "I certainly can't go into a summit meeting equipped with a wire. My colleagues might imagine I was in the pay of the FBI."

O'Toole let out a sharp bark of a laugh and took off his balaclava.

_SKRRIPP!_ With a sizzling rip of adhesive tape, Brown removed the transmitter. "Ouch—damn, that burns. But certainly worth it." He rubbed his skin. "I'm sure both of you learned a great deal."

"Fockin' soap opera, if ye ask me." O'Toole reached to take the equipment from Brown, who handed the whole tangled mess to him and lay back again. Pausing with the wire in his hand, the little sharpshooter looked at his employer lounging in the back seat, shirt open to reveal a tanned, muscular chest with a moderate crop of dark hair. His pale green eyes moved over Brown's figure with covert, guilty longing, but he turned and stuffed the wire into the glove compartment. "Why d'yeh have to go talk to those bloodthirsty sodomites, sir? That 426 is just gonna try to sabotage yeh again."

"I do have some allies still. My progress report will encourage them. In fact, I think I will be able to sketch a firm outline of action. Perhaps my request for backup personnel and materials will go through on the strength of it."

"Materials?"

"Cash, mostly."

"Oh, another—"

"Tom, I need to think, if you don't mind." Brown closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head. "Manny, take me to the pier. But don't drive too fast."

"Yessir, Mr. Brown," said Manichetti. "Slow and easy."

"Nothing is slower," murmured Brown to himself, "than a fool's haste."


	5. Chapter 5

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Five**

"I know, this is an unbelievable deal, Roy! But think about it—bringing down a whole Asian syndicate! God, I'm so—"

"Overexcited?" She heard Roy draw a deep, amused snort. "OK, girl, I don't blame you. If you can pull this off, you are going to be able to take a lot of credit. And a hundred grand! Not bad for a couple of day's work."

"So you're going to contact the FBI for me? I want you to get some credit, too!"

"Thanks, kid. But you could just call the San Francisco office and let them handle it. Why should I get credit, anyway? I'm sitting on my duff in Chicago while you've been driving all over the West Coast!"

"Umm..." Roy had told her about the heroin deal in the first place, which had led her to look for Bean. But Bean wasn't officially part of this. If he were to get away with his money as she had promised, she had to keep his name out of it. "It was that heroin deal, the rumor you filled me in on. That was Brown's. It started the whole ball rolling. Um, indirectly."

"Yeah? Say, did you ever track down your courier? Or was that a bad tip?"

"Oh, it was just some guy on the street who said he'd seen a car that sounded familiar. Seemed pretty strange to me...I mean, why would he have come all that way?" Rally grimaced, hating her duplicity. That promise was tasting worse and worse with every word she spoke. But she had made it, and she had to keep it. She could never allow a criminal to outdo her in a trial of honor.

"For money, you said. Nasty customer, I gather."

"Oh, yeah." Rally smiled and thought fast. "I'd just as soon not run into him again! But let's get back to Brown."

"Sure. I'll call the Feds. I guess you're right; having me do it might ensure they take this seriously. You think he's going to call you back soon?"

"By five, he said. I'm using the hotel phone for this call—he's got my cell phone number and I'm leaving that open. When he tells me where to meet him, I'll go pick him up and then deliver him to the FBI."

"What, in a taxi?"

"Uh..."

"If you wrecked your Cobra—"

"May's coming with the Cobra. I was lucky and only ripped some pieces off the undercarriage."

"Lucky—that's the word for it, all right," said Roy. "How'd you manage not to roll it?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. I don't even remember exactly what happened—I must have had a jolt to the brain!" She laughed. "One moment I was on the road, the next I was at the bottom. Maybe I did something to straighten myself out—if I had my wits about me, I might have steered perpendicular to the edge so I could coast down! But I kind of doubt that; I wasn't in position for that as far as I recall, so it was just dumb luck."

"Aw, don't sell yourself short, kid," said Roy affectionately.

"Well, it shouldn't take too long to fix! Even a little shop in the middle of nowhere can handle it. But if she isn't here in time, I'll improvise!"

"Rally...this is starting to sound kind of dicey."

"I'll be OK."

"I wonder...you know, generally the FBI like to have a liason on hand. If they're dealing with someone like you who isn't official. Someone in law enforcement who's familiar with the situation—usually the local cops, of course. But if we're talking about a drug deal that took place in my jurisdiction..."

"Roy?"

"I'm coming out there to meet you. I'll catch the red-eye and be in San Francisco by early tomorrow morning."

"Huh?" Her heart gave a big thump. "You don't have to go to all that trouble! Really, there's not much risk. I...um, I've got help."

"Help? What kind?"

"Well...some muscle. And a spare car. There's nothing to worry about!"

"Why didn't you say so in the first place? Rally, this isn't like you."

"It's been a weird couple of days. And I didn't get much sleep last night! Sorry, maybe I'm getting tired..."

"Then I am definitely getting on that flight. What's your hotel?"

"Oh, Roy!"

"There is nothing you can say that will persuade me not to come, kid. This is important, and I'm going to be there for you. Not for the damn credit, which as far as I can tell is all yours. But if something happened because I wasn't on the scene, I'd never forgive myself."

She could tell he had made up his mind. "It's called the Sandpiper Inn, though it's nowhere near the beach...it's kind of a fleabag. But it was in the right part of the city. Near the pier."

"This Dragon's Lair?"

"Uh-huh. I'm going to check it out in a little while. See, I'm hedging my bets!"

"Good for you. I'll call you later when I know what flight I'll be on. I'll get on the horn with the Feds right after I make my reservation. You be careful."

"I will be, Roy. Please don't worry."

"The day I stop worrying about you, girl..." He chuckled. "'Bye for now, Rally."

"'Bye." Roy hung up, and Rally put the phone back by the bed. Bean had the television on in the sitting area of the one-bedroom suite; she heard a news program and a cut to a commercial. When she came to the door, Bean looked up from his seat on the closed hide-a-bed and cracked a walnut in his teeth. Around him on the carpet lay a windrow of shattered nutshells.

"You got the Feds lined up?"

"I called Roy Coleman in Chicago. He'll talk to the FBI first, vouch for my credentials. Unfortunately, he kind of insisted on coming along. He wants to make sure everything's all right."

"A _Chicago_ cop? You nuts?" Bean got up, spitting out a piece of walnut shell for emphasis.

"I didn't tell him about you. Well, I had mentioned you in general terms—not by name, OK? He asked me if I'd tracked down the courier I was looking for, and I kind of walked around that one. I just said I had help on hand."

"So why is he horning in? What happens when he sees me hanging out in yer hotel room?"

"He doesn't know you by sight. He does know you by rep. Just tell him a different name!"

"That may not hold up long, girl. There _are_ some Chicago cops that know me by sight. You tryin' to get me nailed?"

"Bean, he trusts me. I'll tell him you're helping me! We won't mention the money—that'll just complicate things."

"That's putting it mildly." Bean rubbed his nose. "But it's getting kinda crowded in here, babe. Too many factors operatin' in a small space. Don't like it."

A small space? At least they had a bigger hotel room now. She still wasn't willing to let Bean out of her sight, but she didn't think she could have stood another night right next to him!

Rally's cell phone rang, and she lunged for her purse.

"That Brown?"

"Could be." She clicked the phone on. "Hello, Rally Vincent here."

"I got the estimate now. You know it's ninety-eight degrees out here? And there are NO trees."

"Thank you, May..." Rally sighed. Bean snorted. "How much, and how long is it going to take?"

"One thousand, eight hundred and forty-nine bucks. And fifty cents. They are ordering a part from Bakersfield. They might get it by this evening. Or they might not."

"Oh, man! I NEED that car!"

"Then come down here and DRAG IT TO FRISCO WITH YOUR TEETH!" shouted May. "I'm gonna go get in the motel pool."

Rally flinched at May's volume. Bean snickered and sat down to watch the TV again.

"May! I'm sorry! I'm just kind of...tense. Brown hasn't called back yet, and Roy's coming out here to keep an eye on me."

"You should have brought me along in the first place! I could have tossed a couple of poppers, knocked out both Brown and Bean on the road, and we'd be doing Magic Mountain right now! They looked at me kind of funny when I got on the play structure at the Mickey D's! I don't look THAT young!"

"I'll make it up to you! I promise! Remember that hundred grand. We'll have a lot of cash to play with, sweetie!"

"OK, OK. I'm sorry. This is just such a DUMP!"

"I know. I didn't have such a hot time there either."

Bean's back straightened and his head gave a slight jerk.

"What did they say about how long it was going to take to do the work?"

"Once they have the part, it will take a couple of hours to install. Then they say you need a lot of cosmetic work, you lost some chrome and your driver's side window is cracked."

"I'm just going to have to take care of that stuff later. As soon as it's driveable, come up here! Here's the hotel address..." Rally looked at the certificate on the back of the door and read it off to May. "And the room number is 811. But you'd better not stay here with us..."

"Us? You and Bean? In one ROOM?" May cackled wickedly. "Something you want to tell me about, Rally?"

"NO! I mean—very funny, May! Does that seem LIKELY?" Lying by evasion was getting easier and easier, if no less uncomfortable. "I am going to have to operate from here, and I want you and Junior out of harm's way, if anything goes wrong. Besides, this isn't exactly the nicest hotel in the city! You should stay somewhere downtown or near the beach." Rally moved into the bedroom again, conscious of Bean's ears.

"God, anywhere'd be better than a Motel 6 in no man's land! You know your Cobra is the biggest story in town?"

"What?"

"Oh, some guys were looking at it when I finished up in the office. One of 'em was just gushing about it, he thought it was so cool! But you know what he drove off in?"

"No, what? Some old junker?"

"Not a chance! A Mercedes. Hardly the kind of thing a guy who freaks over old American muscle cars would drive, you'd think!"

Rally laughed. "Oh, you'd be surprised! Plenty of people wish they could drive something wilder than what they have." She opened the bedroom curtains and looked out at the jagged skyline, the sun declining behind it but still high, skyscrapers sparkling shards of light into her eyes. This would have been a nice afternoon for a drive, if she had her beautiful baby GT-500!

"Not me! I'm dreading taking that thing out on the freeway! I'm going to do 55 the whole way."

"Aaack! May, it'll take you forever!"

"You want it to go in the ditch again? I'm doing it my way, or not at all!"

"All right, all right. Just please come as fast as you can—I don't want to have to depend on...Buff for transportation. Not one moment longer than I have to."

"Oooh! How are you two getting along? Is he being an asshole?"

"You said it," muttered Rally. "God, the man's an utter barbarian! I will be SO glad when this is over..."

"Me too! God, it's hot and buggy out here—and I can smell the cow poop on the fields, I think!"

"Go get in that pool, then! Call me when there's an update." Rally clicked off and turned to see Bean leaning against the door jamb. His eyes were directed straight into hers and he had a heavy frown on his face. The TV still jangled in the background. She felt her expression sink.

"I was gonna apologize to you for what I said about the money." Bean's frown didn't change. "You know, doing somethin' to stop you and all that shit. I know you're gonna keep yer word even if we got our differences. I had no business talkin' to you like that." He rolled his gaze away from her and scowled up at the corner of the ceiling. Rally bit her lips, waiting for the rest. "But give me some respect, girl! _Barbarian?"_

Rally sat down on her bed and put her head in one hand. "I'm sorry, Bean. I didn't realize you were close enough to hear and I shouldn't have called you that. Even though ever since we got to that restaurant, you've been acting like a bear with a sore tooth."

For several minutes, both of them fell silent. Eventually Bean shifted his stance, and Rally glanced up.

"Aw, hell. I know you wouldn't've picked me for this gig, if you'd had your druthers. It was all an accident. All of it." He had his back against the door jamb, neither in nor out of the bedroom, and his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets.

An accident? He was perfectly right about that. She'd kept her eyes so focused on him that it didn't surprise her any more that their bodies had collided in Buttonkettle. Except that he should have been able to avoid her. He was a better driver than she was, after all: more experienced, less perturbable. Why hadn't he steered away when she'd recklessly careened towards him?

"I felt pretty crazy last night even though I hadn't been drinkin'." Bean scratched the back of his neck.

"Oh."

"You know, almost gettin' killed two or three times...I...got kind of overheated."

"Uh-huh."

He looked at her with an uncomfortable snarl, scruffing his fingers through his hair and standing it on end. "You go throwin' sparks in gasoline, girl, you're going to get some flames."

"I know."

"Do ya?" Bean turned and put a hand on the door frame. "I might've learned my lesson last night, but I ain't so sure about you."

"Lesson? When you went and threw the whole thing in my FACE! You want to apologize to me about running off your mouth? Try washing it out with SOAP first!"

"Aw, shit." Bean shook his head slowly. "Grow up, kid. You were beggin' for it and you'd better admit it!"

"You dirty—!"

"This YOUR best shot, Rally Vincent?"

She stopped abruptly, a hand over her mouth.

"What's the score, girl? You going to tell me what that was all about? Long as we're roomies, I need to know what's gonna happen in the wee hours. Don't much like big surprises in the middle of a job."

She had to clear the air about this. They were about to walk into something too big to blow. But what could she say? 'Sorry I got so hot from that firefight I'd even screw a man like you?' God, no. And that wasn't quite the truth, anyway. What was the truth? Even if she knew, it would probably be impossible to admit. Rally buried her face deeper in her hands.

"Aw, shit. You cryin'?"

"Hell, no!" Rally sat upright, her face hot.

"Good. Didn't think you were that kind."

"I'm not. And...I am not the kind to...do what I did to you last night, or at least I didn't think I was. I'm not sure why it happened. But it did, and yes, it was my fault, but I was not begging for it! I didn't set out with any intention—"

"Yeah, I got the picture." Bean waved a hand in dismissal. Something like disappointment or chagrin passed briefly over his features, but he extinguished it with an ironic grin. "You just wanted to keep an eye on me, and hell, I tried to split as soon as I could. Guess you had me pegged, girl. So that makes it kinda my fault too, huh?"

"Oh, well...thanks for saying so. You say you were feeling overheated—well, so was I. Sometimes...well, firefights get me kind of worked up. I'm sorry."

Bean looked at her for a minute, his face now unreadable. "If I learned anything about ya last night, I know you don't give it away easy. That's what's confusin' me."

"Join the club."

He laughed, not very mirthfully. "You'd belong to a club that'd have Road Buster Bean for a member?"

Rally laughed harder and flung her head back, putting her hands on the bedspread. "For the kind of thing we've been up to? Can't think of a better roster."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," said Bean with a sigh. "Partners."

"Partners," said Rally with more conviction, and put out her hand. Bean came into the room and took it. She stood up and gave him a firm handshake, her hand almost disappearing in his. "We aren't ever going to do things the same way, and we aren't ever going to have the same priorities. But we CAN work together, or at least die trying."

Bean raised a brow. "Die? Not me, babe." She smiled in return. He gave her a grin, looked at her hand still in his, and opened his fingers to let her go. Suddenly he seemed to realize he was in her bedroom, glanced around, cleared his throat, and retreated to the sitting room.

The TV buzzed and squawked. Rally peered through the door. Bean stood next to the TV, flipping from one channel to the next so rapidly she could hardly tell one image from another. He wasn't even looking at the screen, but through the window at the sky. For a moment he seemed like an animal pacing a cage. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing she had been thinking a few minutes before. _Nice afternoon for a drive, if I was on my own..._

_Breeep._

_Breeep._

_Breeep._

"Isn't that your phone?" said Bean, turning to look at her, and Rally startled out of her reverie.

"Oh, God. That has to be..." She turned and went back into the bedroom where she had left it. "Hello, Rally Vincent here."

"Hello, Rally. Good to hear your voice again." Brown sounded friendly and smug at the same time. "Have you found a comfortable place to stay?"

"Doing just fine, Sly." She scuffed her foot against a worn spot on the carpet.

"I'm glad to hear it. You should rest and keep your mind clear before our operation. I have a plan, and I'd like to get your approval."

"Sure thing. What's the score?"

"Tomorrow night will be ideal, about eleven. I'll have access to the money—I'll be working late, something everyone expects me to do at the moment anyway. The surveillance is tighter now and closing down my options—I can move between home and office, but that's about it. If I seem to be attempting escape, I'll be killed immediately. I won't be able to stray outside my usual sphere, with one exception."

"Which is?"

"I've already dropped a few hints to my superiors. I'm supposedly tense and worried—well, not so supposedly. In need of relaxation and feminine companionship. My wife isn't available at the moment, being down south with our daughter." He cleared his throat. "That's your part. The companion."

"You mean...you want me to impersonate a...a prostitute?"

She heard Bean let out a harsh breath and turned to see him standing in the doorway. She moved closer and leaned against the wall next to him. Holding her phone a few inches away from her ear, she put her finger to her lips.

Bean stooped and put his ear near the phone so he could pick up both sides of the conversation. He closed his eyes and held his breath, then let it out quietly. After a moment, she realized he was synchronizing his breathing with hers so Brown wouldn't hear him.

"No, no." Brown sounded apologetic. "A girlfriend, as if you and I had an arrangement of longer standing. I won't be ambushed or stopped if they think I'm occupied with a woman—they wouldn't want witnesses to the hit, and I believe they're not eager to kill American civilians, for fear of investigation. This scheme has the additional advantage of allowing us to meet again before the actual escape."

He paused for the space of a breath. "Alone, of course."

"That would make it hard for Bean to come along, yes."

"Ah...is he listening to this conversation?"

She met Bean's eyes, his face inches from hers. "I went into another room to pick up the phone."

"I must tell you, Rally, I think it would be better for all concerned if Mr. Bandit did not directly participate in this operation. You have all the necessary skills, and far more emotional detachment than your partner has. Naturally he's entitled to his fair share, and naturally you will give it to him. In the cause of harmony, would it be possible for you to keep him in the background?"

"Keep him in the background? Don't you mean keep him in the dark?"

"I didn't like to use the phrase. Of course the decision is yours. I find it unlikely that you will be able to keep him off the scene if he knows the details, and if he is present, an unstable element inserts itself into all our calculations."

Bean gave a sardonic smile while Brown's soft, reasonable voice continued. "Wouldn't it be better to complete the operation and confer on him a _fait accompli?_ And a large amount of cash, of course."

Ten minutes before, she would have agreed with Brown. She was almost glad she had called Bean names. Funny how an argument could wash away the crap. "Well, ah, what he doesn't know won't hurt him. I'll tell him I'm going to pursue my own leads tonight."

"Certainly." His voice betrayed little, but Rally could almost feel Brown's smile. "This part of the operation is yours; in fact, you'll be able to carry out the entire scheme on your own. To outline the remainder of my ideas—I propose that you should meet me at my office with your car tomorrow night and drive me to your hotel as if for a tryst. The FBI can station agents at the hotel. I will surrender myself to them and leave in their custody. Even if we are followed, it will avail the Dragons nothing. Very simple."

"That does sound simple, so I'd better probe for loopholes. Do the Dragons know who I am?"

"Their intelligence wing could certainly find out, if someone becomes suspicious. I didn't go through them to obtain my background information on you. If you play the role well...and look the part, suspicion shouldn't be a factor. I have no doubt you'll be able to pull it off, having seen you." He chuckled gently. "I don't settle for the run of the mill in any area, and everyone knows it. If you'll pardon the implications of such a compliment, you are easily attractive enough, and distinctive enough, to be my mistress."

Rally felt her face grow pink. Bean stared at her and her stomach did flip-flops. From most gangsters she had ever met, a comment like that wouldn't have made much impression. Their sallies were usually guileless and crude, something she could laugh off or take some offense at if necessary.

This one set off alarms. Did Brown have actual designs on her? If he did, was it for strategic reasons or simply because he liked her looks? Was he that much of a ladies' man?

"Uhh...thanks. Um...I'm going to need to know more about your office. Location, layout, security and so forth. I'm sure there will be some danger spots and I'd prefer to plan ahead."

"Ah, the woman of business. Of course, I will have a map prepared. I'd like to deliver it in person so we can discuss the plan. Tonight, if possible. Have you eaten yet?"

"No, it's only four-thirty!"

"May I have the pleasure of your company at dinner?"

"Uh...sure. Where?"

"I'll choose a safe place and pick you up with Mr. Manichetti. It's important that this be staged correctly, to jibe with the story I've already given to my colleagues. You, or your alter ego, are a resident of Los Angeles, and have been my mistress for about a month. You've flown up to San Francisco at my request and will be staying for a few days. I'm putting you up in the Mandarin Oriental near Union Square—naturally, this is one of the better hotels in the city. Many visiting members of the Dragons use it, which is advantageous, as their agents are frequently in the vicinity. We should therefore meet in the lobby after you've taken a cab there and checked in. When the observers see that nothing untoward happens, and that I return to my home after the evening is over, your subsequent appearance at my office will raise no suspicions. I've had a room reserved for you under my name and you're welcome to stay there...on your own."

"Really." Oh, he definitely had designs on her. Bean's scowling face told her that even if her own instincts had not.

"Will that do? Eight PM?"

"Sure. How should I dress, to fit this story of yours?"

"Mmm...an excellent point. Your professional attire suits you well, but wouldn't suit the occasion. Buy something new—no mistress of mine would wear anything from a department store." His smooth voice took on a hint of sneer. "Visit the designer boutiques on Post Street, near the hotel. You should mention my name in Versace or Fendi and have them put your purchases on my account. Don't spare expense. I'd recommend a short evening dress, something simple, and a minimum of accessories. But please feel free to come armed."

"Oh, I will. I realize you need your driver, but listen to me, Sly. Seriously. If I see hide or hair of your pet terrorist, or anyone like him, I'm going to turn around and walk away."

"I understand. With Mr. Bandit absent, I won't feel the need to bring Mr. O'Toole in any case. I trust you, Rally."

She had no reason to doubt his sincerity in that. "Good. I'll go shopping now."

"Excellent. I will see you at eight."

"See you." She clicked off and lowered the phone. She and Bean still leaned against the wall, face to face.

"You really gonna meet him _alone?"_ Bean looked as if all the possible proceedings subsequent to a man and woman together in a hotel room were flashing before his eyes.

"That's what _he_ thinks," said Rally.

* * *

"You know more than that, Larry," Rally cooed into her phone while striding up Post Street with several rope-handled shopping bags. "You've been studying them for months? Mr. Stanford MBA? You do know more than where their warehouse is."

She emerged into Union Square and sunshine burst down over her head. The temperature was warm although the afternoon grew late, and the pedestrians wore brief summer clothing. A cable car clanged along the opposite end of the square, packed with riders.

"Well..." said Larry after a pause.

"Hey, lady," said a young female panhandler. "Any spare change left over from the shoppin' trip?"

"I charged it all to Daddy," said Rally sarcastically, but dug in her purse for a dollar bill. "Here you go."

"What?" said Larry.

"Oh, nothing." Rally continued on her way. "I just gave her a buck."

"You've got to be careful about encouraging those people."

"What, encouraging them to be poor? I don't know about you, but I do not have the balls to turn someone down when I'm toting this many shopping bags." She looked at her load: Versace, Manolo Blahnik, and Gucci. "It's not every day I get to stock up on—well, I've been busy this afternoon."

Mentioning her appointment with Brown seemed incautious, so she continued in a coaxing tone. "I really need more information before this evening. Could be dangerous if I don't confirm some important points. Can't you help me, Larry?"

"Well..." said Larry again. "It's not what I...well, ask me a few questions. I may have answers...or I may not. Don't ask me for corroboration on anything I may tell you, because I can't give it."

Rally narrowed her eyes as she passed Gump's. Larry's choice of words implied some kind of under-the-table dealings. Did he have a secret informant he didn't want to compromise? She could understand that, but if he kept his information too closely guarded, it would be of no use to anyone. "I'm not going to pass this on to anyone else, you know. You can tell me, whatever it is."

"Not to Bean?"

"Uh...well, I might need to tell him some things, yes. He IS my partner."

"I think you can appreciate my need for caution, Rally."

"Sure I can. They've already threatened you, and you're a visible target. But how would anyone connect you to me? I only got here today and it was just coincidence I ate lunch at your place."

"You're forgetting that big scene on the sidewalk. Plenty of people saw us talking, not to mention those two thugs. Did you know they're already out on bail?"

"Really."

"It was paid an hour ago. I know a clerk in the SFPD, and I made sure to check on them."

"Well, I can't say I'm all that surprised. You think they're going to hit you again?"

"Uh…no. They're not the ones I"m worried about. Frankly, I shouldn't be discussing this over the phone."

"Don't hang up. Would you prefer it if I came over?"

"Can you?"

"Not right this moment, now that I think about it." Rally had taken a cab from the Sandpiper Inn to the shopping district, and the Mandarin Oriental was only two blocks away now. She could not dash off to a small Chinese restaurant in the Sunset district if the Eight Dragon Triad had an agent watching her. A thought struck her, and she turned to look back the way she had come. The panhandling woman had vanished. Well, that had been a waste of a perfectly good charitable contribution.

"No," she said aloud, "I shouldn't leave this part of town for now. I guess I'll have to make do with what I have tonight. No matter what might…"

"OK, OK." Larry groaned. "Ask me a question."

"Thank you. I told you about the man I'm interested in. Do you have any news on him?"

"Well…"

"Have you asked anyone about him?"

Larry let out a short, surprised laugh. "No."

"Then how do you get your—"

"I can't go into that."

"Never mind, then. Brown?"

"I don't have anything solid…just rumors."

"That'll do for now."

"He's in trouble, all right. They have him under surveillance, and he doesn't have long. One week."

"Ha. That's going around in _rumors?"_

"That's all I know," Larry said shortly. "Is it any use?"

"Yes, thank you, it is." Rally nodded her head and stopped at a corner, waiting for the Walk sign to come on. A cable car clanged by and stopped in front of the St. Francis Hotel, tourists piling off and on. "That's exactly the kind of thing I need to confirm."

"So you've heard it already?" His voice had a note of shock. "Who have you been talking to?"

Rally's eyes opened wide, but she kept her voice casual. "I can't go into that, Larry, any more than you can. Thank you so much. I really appreciate this."

"Rally…I really do want to help you. I just can't—will you come by tomorrow, then? Lunchtime? I promise I'll have something better. And a menu planned for you."

"Sounds good."

"I want to see you again, Rally."

"Yeah?" she murmured, smiling to herself. "I want to see you, too." She clicked off. Oh, she really did want to see him—and find out exactly what his sources were. How could anyone know what he had just told her, outside the inner circle of the Eight Dragon Triad?

* * *

Where the hell was he?

In the back seat of a wine-red Bugatti limo, Rally glanced at the rear-view mirror. She sat next to Brown, the handsome drug dealer pointing out various sights of the city as Manichetti drove.

They'd made a loop through Chinatown, gone down Taylor to Market and up the waterfront, past glittering office buildings and hotels and shops, all lit up and bustling with activity. This elegant city and its beautiful setting between bay and ocean provided ample material for Brown's long-winded, consciously over-informed tour guide routine. She could only listen halfway, for she was anxiously looking for Bean. So far, she hadn't spotted him.

Could he have gotten _lost?_ San Francisco wasn't familiar to either of them, though she'd been studying Bean's map whenever he wasn't monopolizing it. By now, she had a good picture of the basic layout: a rough square ten miles on a side, rounded on the northern end because of the natural curve of the peninsula. Most of the downtown streets ran in a strict north-south grid, but Market slashed an angle through the southeast quarter and changed the orientation of every street south of it. Part of that district was yuppified lofts and art galleries, but as it moved towards the city limits it got grimier and uglier. The Sandpiper Inn sat halfway between the tony area and the worst parts of town, a wasteland of housing projects and derelict cars worthy of Chicago's South Side.

Rally and Bean had taken a tour earlier that day while finding the pier and the hotel, an entirely different experience from the red-carpet uptown treatment Brown was giving her now. Buff had drawn a lot of attention in the Mission District and Hunter's Point, not much of it innocent.

Most of the visible inhabitants were the worst elements, people who terrorized their own neighborhoods. Gangbangers in baggy athletic clothing and semi-shaved haircuts hung out on street corners and watched them pass with sullen menace. She had felt almost at home.

Every time Bean had slowed at a stoplight, someone had approached the car and tried to get him to roll down the window. Obviously the only expensive vehicles that routinely ventured there were driven by the people who ultimately paid for Brown's lifestyle...

Drug users. She hated drugs so much it was difficult for her to list rational reasons why—she'd been forcibly drugged more than once, she'd seen innocents with ruined lives, she'd seen the dreadful violence inspired by the huge sums of money the narcotics trade generated. Here she sat in an overpriced car, next to a man wearing a three-thousand dollar suit and a face that might well have cost him ten times that. The cushiony leather seat under her made her skin crawl.

Where the _hell_ was Bean? Manichetti had taken a roundabout route and kept pulling into short side streets and out again, obviously to shake pursuit. Maybe he'd been too good a dry-cleaner even for the Roadbuster.

"To your left, up the hill—that's the Transamerica Pyramid." Brown leaned over to point and slid his left hand along the top of the seat, very close to her shoulder.

"Yeah, I saw that before." Rally moved back to avoid him. He'd been invading her space since the moment he'd walked up to her in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental. Which, incidentally, had to be the most expensive hotel in a hundred-mile radius. The suite he'd reserved for her cost fifteen hundred and fifty bucks a night, and the room service menu made her eyes bug out.

Even wearing the little black dress she'd chosen in Versace, which had cost as much as Brown's suit, she felt like an interloper. This wasn't her world. She didn't know anyone who could throw cash around like this. Bean didn't spend his money on luxuries—just on cars, which she could understand. She liked cars...but not big Bugattis bought with blood.

Rally stole another look at the rear-view mirror. What might Bean have picked up for a tailing operation, to substitute for his conspicuous custom ride? He'd said he would rent something, but he was equally capable of 'borrowing' a car. Would he have gone for a new sports car or an old muscle machine? The only car she'd seen repeatedly was a little white Honda Civic. Assuming it was even the same one—every third car was Japanese. Mustangs of all vintages were fairly common, but so were new Beetles and BMWs, and she saw more 3000 ZXs than she could shake a stick at. Californians didn't have the same loyalty to American makes as Bean did, apparently.

The Honda approached a little closer as the Bugatti halted in traffic. Street lights illuminated the driver's face for a moment.

Rally had to suppress a wriggle of joy. Bean! Driving a foreign slushbox with less than a hundred horsepower! Caution had won the struggle with pride, then. He'd combed his hair back and tied a bandanna over his head, changing his silhouette enough to retard recognition, at least at night.

No one else in the Bugatti seemed to have noticed him yet, so apparently the ruse was working. A light changed to green and traffic moved forward again, leaving the Honda behind but still following. He'd been there all the time, keeping an eye on the situation as they'd arranged. Bean was just as good as he had claimed, to her intense relief.

"Can we assume we've shaken the Dragons by now?" she said to Brown. "I think I've seen enough of the Financial District to last me the rest of my life." She rolled up the map they had been studying and put it into her purse.

"Shaken the Dragons? No, that's not the idea," chuckled Brown. "I want them to observe us, so it's obvious that nothing untoward is going on."

"Besides adultery."

He let out a ringing laugh. "The appearance of adultery, I suppose. We are only play-acting tonight, huh?" He caught her right hand in his left and kissed her fingertips, to her mild disgust. "I've always thought I'd make a fine movie actor. Why, Charlie Sheen told me..." He went off into an anecdote filled with authentic-sounding Hollywood name-dropping, which made it obvious he supplied drugs to an all-star clientele.

Rally's opinion of him improved slightly—he was a vain, overdressed, overspending ninny, but peddling nose candy to people just like himself wasn't the worst kind of dealing she'd encountered by a long shot. She began to wonder just what the FBI wanted with him in the first place.

"So the Dragons are following us?" she interrupted when Brown drew breath in the middle of his story. "I haven't seen anyone tailing us."

"Nah." Manichetti spoke for the first time since Rally had entered the car. "I ain't spotted any pricey cars following." He caught her eye in the rear-view mirror. "Either 426's boys are better than I think they are, or they're driving junkers instead." He smiled, and a chill went through her; she was positive he had noticed Bean at the same time she had. Manichetti made a little twitch of the eyelids that might have been a wink, and her stomach turned over. Why hadn't he said anything to Brown?

"Now, Manny." Brown's voice had a sudden acid tinge. "Let's not bore Ms. Vincent with irrelevancies. Let's go to L'Marinee. Our reservation is for nine o'clock sharp—I don't want to keep Henri waiting after giving him such short notice for a table." He turned to Rally. "There's nothing more unmanageable than a miffed maitre d'."

"I wouldn't know."

"I hope you didn't have seafood for lunch, because I will insist that you have the Dungeness crab appetizer. You simply can't leave San Francisco without sampling it."

"I'll take your word for it." Rally shrugged. "I had Chinese anyway." Brown took a quick sharp glance at her, but she looked blandly back at him. "I like Chinese."

"Ah," said Brown. "I must admit I've lost my taste for it."

"Really."

His face lost some of its attractiveness, a hint of meaness developing in the line of his perfect lips. "I've...there's been a threat against my family. Don't worry, they're perfectly safe." She saw Manichetti's head move. "After the events of the past few months, I'm not too charitable towards the Orient. I'd advise you to avoid anything to do with it."

"What, you're going to hate everything Chinese for the rest of your life? Not all of them are gangsters, you know! Why, the guy I met—"

The meaness grew more pronounced. "Rally, I believe I've had more experience with them than you have."

She stared at him for a moment, realizing he meant exactly what he said—he hated everything to do with China, at least at that moment, and pressing her point would only precipitate an argument. Brown wasn't used to being contradicted, obviously, and had a low tolerance for it. Rally rolled her eyes slightly and looked out the window. "Sure, whatever." She glanced up at Manichetti again and saw him watching her in the rear-view mirror. Something was definitely wrong when a man's own employee said not a word about enemies on his track, after taking such pains to shake pursuit. But perhaps he was reserving comment until he and Brown had a private talk.

"Well," said Brown after a pause. "I don't believe I've complimented you sufficiently on your choice of attire. My faith in your good taste is magnificently vindicated." He looked her up and down for the fifth or sixth time. "I shall have to send you shopping again, huh? Do you prefer Versace or Fendi?"

Actually, she'd preferred a small local designer's boutique she'd found tucked away on a side street, something with elegant classic pieces and prices only twice what she was accustomed to pay, but since he had hinted, she had bought her dress in the flashier Italian place. It was spare and asymmetric and loaded with Spandex, and she couldn't imagine wearing it in Chicago—in Los Angeles, perhaps, but not at home. Certainly it flattered her figure, but it also made her look like a different person; not a skilled bounty hunter, but a sleek little tootsie with a society drug-dealer boyfriend. "Oh, Versace had a lot of stuff," she said vaguely.

"Oh, certainly, a great many pieces in that line would suit..." He rambled on about Italian designers and Rally tuned out again, staring past his well-cut jaw and out at the city lights slipping by.

Brown didn't seem to need a lot of feedback to keep running, and obviously would rather she didn't state any opinions of her own, so she kept her mouth closed and her thoughts to herself. She wore the dress he'd paid for, she rode in his car along the route he designated, she would eat what he ordered for her on his timetable—but once she got home, she was going to change into the sweatsuit she'd bought at Macys and have some peanut butter crackers out of the vending machine in the hotel bar. All this pretension was wearing thin, and she hadn't even spent an hour in Brown's company yet.

Poor Bean—on the road to New York and back he'd had to listen to this drivel for nearly twenty-four hours! It was enough to drive anyone to homicide. Well, maybe not everyone. Some women wouldn't have minded Brown's manner one bit, and would have gazed awestruck into those turquoise eyes and at that fat wallet. It was an effort for her, but getting along with Brown seemed to require that she accept some of his not-so-subtle dictatorial tendencies. She'd content herself with a few mild jabs and cooperate otherwise, since she wanted to encourage Brown to open up a little, talk to her about his career in the Triad and his plans to testify against his colleagues. None of the information she had on him was specific about his function or his standing...and what or who the hell was 426, anyway?

"Here we are," said Brown with an air of pride. The car stopped under a porte-cochere and Manichetti opened his door, then got out and opened the rear passenger door next to the sidewalk. He stepped aside as Brown disembarked, but offered Rally his arm. She put two fingers lightly on it and leaped out of the car with her purse and jacket. "I'll call when we're ready to go," Brown tossed over his shoulder, taking Rally's hand and tucking into the crook of his elbow. "And I'll expect you right away, Manny. Don't go too far."

"Nossir," the driver replied, giving a slight salute as Brown and Rally went into the restaurant. "And I'll say the frickin' same to you, boss..." He got back into the Bugatti and threw it into gear.

* * *

"Have you ever considered a change of careers?" said Brown. "Your talents qualify you for much more lucrative employment, my dear. Bounty hunting can't be a very consistent source of income." The sommelier approached with a bottle of champagne, cradling it in a linen napkin, and showed Brown the label. "Yes, the 1977. Huh?"

"No, it's not." Rally considered the dessert menu, feeling close to full, but licked her lips at the descriptions.

"You must have to spend a great deal of time in unpleasant surroundings, with discreditable people. That must be wearisome by now—especially when you've had a taste of a better style of life, huh?" The sommelier poured champagne and departed.

"What, this?" Rally laughed and rang the crystal flute with a polished fingernail. "I'm on vacation. I don't expect to eat this kind of dinner every damn night! I'd be a blimp!"

"Oh, I don't eat here every night—I have an excellent cook at home. He's a native of Italy, French-trained, and so is expert in both great traditions. The best of both worlds."

"Jesus, servants and everything!" Rally took a sip of wine. "I don't think I'm ever going to live like that, no matter how much money I make!"

"The lack of privacy, perhaps? You may have a point there."

Whoa, he thought she had a point? Wonders would never cease. "Gee, you having trouble with somebody?"

"Alas, yes."

"Anyone I know?"

"Mr. O'Toole…has become...something of a liability." Brown grimaced with a sense of regret. "He's a heavy drinker, and has unpleasant personal habits. He has to live in close proximity to me in order to do his job, of course, so there's no escaping him. He left his native land because of legal trouble..."

"The kind that qualified him to work as a bodyguard? Uh-huh."

"Yes, and I've had to spend a considerable amount of money to shield him both from the consequences of that conduct and from his extracurricular activities since he came to the United States. Especially since I married, his personality has undergone a change for the worse. I'm afraid I will soon have to let him go."

"You're in the market for a new bodyguard, you mean." Oh, goodie.

"Yes, I am. A younger person, I think, but someone with security experience and excellent weapons skills." He smiled at her. "I haven't said anything to him yet, of course. I will have to find a good prospect first and ease O'Toole out as quickly as I can. Naturally I will give him an ample settlement, for many years of loyal service."

"But you're going into the witness protection program. Wouldn't a bodyguard blow your cover?"

"Well...I've reconsidered that. I intend to testify, of course, but I think retiring to Europe would make more sense than attempting to change my lifestyle so drastically. I've even bought a house in the Alps. O'Toole will not be able to enter the E.U., since he is wanted in the U.K. and the Republic of Ireland. Interpol will flag him the moment he applies for a visa. He'll be much safer in the United States."

"That's very considerate of you."

Their waiter came and inquired about their dessert selections, and she ordered a complicated item involving chocolate, raspberries, filo pastry and various garnishes she had barely heard of. Brown ordered chocolate decadence and a bottle of Sauternes.

Rally mentally ticked off the amount of alcohol they had consumed; cocktails before dinner, Graves with the appetizer, Beaujolais with the entree, Champagne as a palate cleanser and now sweet wine with dessert. He'd been reasonably subtle about his intention to get her tipsy, but Rally had been careful not to let the luxury of such a dinner overwhelm her. She had not gone so far as to pour glasses of hundred-dollar wine into the flower vases, but she had used every trick she knew to disguise how little she was actually drinking. The Sauternes, however, something she had never had before, was so delicious that she couldn't pass up a second glass, and a third.

Only when her head began to whirl did she peek at the label and discover that the alcohol percentage was higher that she had realized. She ate her dessert slowly, hoping she would recover before they had to leave. Brown finished his quickly and called for the check. Rally stood up and reached for her purse and jacket, which she had declined to check at the door.

"Ready?" Brown rose from his chair a little too eagerly. "I'll call the car."

"No, I want to finish that." Rally bobbed her chin at the rest of her dessert. "I'm just going to hit the can—where is it?"

"Ah—through the bar." Brown slightly raised a brow at her deliberate gaucherie, but she also had the impression that he rather liked it. What did he intend once they got back to the Mandarin Oriental? The plan called for them to enter her room together and spend some time there, to convince the watchers that she was indeed his visiting girlfriend, but Rally intended to slip out after a decent interval and head down the back stairs. She had scouted all the exits and told Bean where to wait for her—where was he now? She had seen him last two blocks before the restaurant. He might have gone straight to the hotel, or he might be lurking nearby. At any rate, he must have his cell phone with him.

When Rally had locked the bathroom door behind her, she got her own phone out of her purse and sat down on the toilet seat, pressing the second program button.

"Yeah?" said Bean's voice, and she let out a little sigh. A warm emotion—maybe relief, maybe just familiarity. She had spent so much time with him over the previous twenty-four hours, and now after three hours out of his company, she was genuinely glad to speak to him again. "Who's callin'?"

"It's me."

"Hey, girl. How's it goin'?"

"Not bad. I just ate a dinner like I'll never be able to afford again as long as I live, and he's been trying to hire me for a bodyguard before he splits the country. How's it going with you?"

She heard him chuckle. "Yeah, right."

"I kid you not. What an opportunist, huh? I had to cut up his meat for him, so maybe he figures it he can guilt-trip me into hiring on to be one of his damn servants."

"Serious?"

"As far as I can tell. But he's been a perfect gentleman—mostly."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing you could convict him on. He ordered nearly all my food for me, he told me what subjects to discuss, and he complimented me on the dress he told me to buy. What the hell—he's paying."

"You want me to come get you?"

"No, not yet. I'm still in the restaurant. We have to do the whole thing at the hotel first."

"Do what, exactly?"

"I don't know. Sit and play pinochle for an hour?" She giggled, then hiccupped.

"Rally…"

"You are going to warn me again, I know. Don't bother, Bean. I can handle him, and frankly I doubt he's going to try anything beyond extravagant compliments, unless he's even vainer than I think he is."

"OK, I won't repeat everything I'm thinkin' right now. It'd take too long anyhow."

"Good. Where are you?"

"Cruisin' the downtown in my limousine."

"I saw that. It was hard not to laugh. Where'd you get it?"

"Bought it."

"_Bought_ it! To add to your car collection?" They both snickered.

"Ha, ha. I'm gonna dump it when I don't need it no more, of course. I got it off a guy with a want ad for six hundred bucks."

"I'd better get back to the dining room," said Rally. "He's going to think I escaped out the window. I don't feel so drunk now…"

"Hey! You OK?"

"Just fine. I'll call you again when I'm heading out."

"You do that."

Rally put the phone back in her purse and got out the item she had gone to the bathroom to arrange, strapping it to her forearm. Over it she pulled her jacket and slung her purse on her shoulder. Back at the table, she dawdled over dessert while Brown signed the check and excused himself to make his phone call. Brown was waiting in the lobby when she emerged, and they walked out just as Manichetti pulled up in the Bugatti.

On the way to the Mandarin Oriental Rally pretended more intoxication than she actually felt and babbled away, asking Brown some personal questions. He answered none of them, but deftly turned the subject to her and mentioned his need for a new bodyguard again. Rally in turn deflected that and tried another tack.

"You know, Sly…I'm actually pretty green at this. I never helped anyone escape from a syndicate before. We really do have to go into more detail on tomorrow night."

His expression, which was warm and smiling, changed a little. "You have the map of the pier. You can rent a car, which makes sense for our cover story, then come to my office; we'll leave with the suitcase. Nothing simpler."

"Really. How many guards are there going to be?"

"Oh, not many. I've arranged that. There's not much business going on at that location right now, anyway. You'll be frisked when you come in, I'm afraid, so if you bring a firearm—"

"_If_ I bring a firearm?" laughed Rally. "I wouldn't get within half a mile of a gang hideout without _a firearm!"_

"Gracious, what vehemence." Brown smirked. "I can't imagine how you are going to be able to conceal it."

"No problem. I have a garter magazine holster—I can use that for my little .25, and just get it up close between my—um." She flushed. "Well, I mean, not many people actually put their hands there, searching."

"I understand. Most resourceful." Brown's eyes went heavy-lidded and the temperature of his smile shot up several degrees. "Do you usually keep a, _ahem_, gun in that spot?" His question had more than a double meaning.

"No, I don't."

"Surely you don't mean…"

"I told you, I'm not sleeping with Bean."

"Oh, him! But you must be besieged with opportunities, Rally. From men far more well-endowed by nature and circumstance." That had a double meaning too. "You've certainly had the means to compare the cream of the crop."

"No! I never—" Rally put a hand to her lips.

"Rally? Oh, I'm sorry. That remark did have an unfortunate implication—I apologize. I didn't mean to say I thought you might be promiscuous. Please accept it as a compliment to your lovely face and figure."

Oh, he was a master. Here she was, telling him all about her sex life! Something about the very subject rattled her. "Um—I just meant to say…"

"Is there someone?" said Brown in a soothing, avuncular tone. "What a contented young man he must be."

"I…no."

"Dear me. I don't know whether to be pleased, or the contrary."

Her face was burning by now. "Can we drop this? I wanted to plan the operation, not talk about me!"

"You _are_ very young, aren't you...?" Manichetti shifted gears abruptly.

"I'm not a kid!"

"No, of course not. A young woman of…parts."

"I can handle this! Even if it turns into a firefight, I'm going to get you out of there alive and well."

"I am endlessly reassured, my dear."

Again Rally felt an edge of panic, hoping he wouldn't back out of the arrangement at the last minute. Especially after the way she had been biting her tongue all evening to keep from retorting sharply to some of Brown's remarks, she wanted to be sure she got a reward for her trouble! "Aren't you happy with the way things have gone so far? Is there something bothering you about the way I'm handling it?"

"Not in the least. As a matter of fact, I have a proposition in mind…"

"…Oh?"

"But I believe I will leave that for later. Time enough, huh?"

Manichetti pulled up to the front of the Mandarin Oriental, and a doorman came out to open the Bugatti's passenger door. They disembarked and Manichetti drove off, this time without instructions from Brown. Apparently Brown didn't expect to need his services any time soon. Rally raised a brow.

The doorman ushered them into the lobby and handed them over to the bellman, who in turn left them in the care of the elevator operator. Brown tipped every single one of them, keeping Rally's arm in his the entire time.

As the elevator doors opened on their floor, Brown guided her out, and before the doors closed again, turned to her and bent to kiss her.

Recoiling without thinking, she turned her face. His lips touched only her cheek. Quickly recovering, she pressed her mouth to his for the elevator operator's benefit. The moment they were unobserved, she wriggled out of Brown's embrace and stood back. The kiss had been quick and closed-mouthed, but she felt as if she had just received an electric shock; her skin tingled unpleasantly and her face twitched.

Brown drew a forefinger along his lower lip and smiled slightly, mouth a little open and his brows arching. "The play's the thing, is it not? And you have missed your vocation, my dear."

"I don't think so." Rally headed down the hall towards the room. She unlocked the door and threw it open, then clicked on the light. "Come on in, I guess. How long do you have to stay, anyway?"

"That is entirely up to you, Rally."

She groaned inwardly and walked in, throwing her purse on a chair. The carpet was so thick that her high heels dug in, so she kicked off her shoes. "Please, make yourself comfortable." Brown removed his suit jacket and hung it carefully in the closet. His tie followed, and he unbuttoned his shirt at the neck. "Won't you take off your jacket? Here, I'll hang it up for you."

"No, thanks. I'm chilly." She pulled the heavy satin draperies aside and looked out at the street. Was Bean out there waiting for her call, or was he still cruising the city?

"I'll turn down the air conditioning." Brown did so. He sauntered over to where she stood and looked over her shoulder. "Unfortunately, there isn't much of a view." Closing the curtains, he brushed her hair with one arm.

Rally's stomach began to feel a little queasy. She ducked under his arm, grabbed her purse, retreated to the bathroom and closed the door. The bathroom was nearly as large by itself as the motel room in Buttonkettle. Marble, glass, rows of little lights and more thick carpet.

She thought about taking a shower, or a bath in the big oval jacuzzi tub, but it occurred to her that Brown was exactly the sort of man to come join her, invited or not. She contented herself with scrubbing her face with a washcloth and removing all her makeup. Her hair had been done at the hotel salon, so she wet her comb and worked out some of the mousse, then de-pouffed it with her palms. While the water ran on full, she took out her cell phone and called Bean.

"How's it goin' in there?"

"You follow us here?"

"Yep. Saw the light turn on just now."

"It's OK so far. Where are you parked?"

"Service alley out back."

"Good. Stay there."

"I ain't goin' nowhere, babe."

Now if she'd only had an old bathrobe, or those new sweats…and then she could turn on the TV to a loud game show or something and…pick her nose in front of him? Maybe that would discourage him, but then again it might not. Although it was obvious Brown hoped to interest her in some physical activity, she had the feeling that he intended rather more than that. What he meant by a proposition wasn't sex, she felt sure. After making faces at herself in the mirror and thinking the question over for a little while, she returned to the sitting room.

Brown was nowhere to be seen. Rally did a double-take and felt paradoxically let down for a moment—all that mussing up for nothing? But she heard a sound from the bedroom and realized where he was.

Through the open door, she saw him side-reclining on the king-size bed, left elbow on the spread and the hand supporting his head. His gaze wasn't at her; it was directed at the wall opposite—where hung a huge mirror. After a moment, he sat up and took something out of his pants pocket, turning away from her line of sight to put a small flat item on the nightstand. He then produced a little glass vial and tapped some of the white powder it contained out onto the object on the nightstand; she realized that it was a small mirror that probably served him for more than one purpose.

As she watched, he went through the whole ritual—chopping the powder and raking it into two lines, using a short straw to snort it, one line into each nostril. He was a little clumsy with the left hand, but seemed to manage very well for all that. Rolling her eyes, she sat on the cushy sofa and picked up the evening paper that lay on the coffee table.

After a few minutes, Brown wandered in with his sleeves rolled up over tanned forearms and sat opposite her. When he crossed his legs, she saw that he had taken off his shoes and socks and somehow managed to disarrange his hair. He looked just as casual as she did—perhaps more so, since she still wore the Versace dress and her jacket. Rally pursed her lips to suppress her expression. Did he really have her number yet?

Eyes bright and face a little flushed, Brown caught her eye and smiled. "Would you care for a little after-dinner pick-me-up?"

"You mean some of that coke? No thanks."

Brown seemed to suppress annoyance. Again she had the little shock of recognition she had experienced at their meeting in Golden Gate Park earlier that day. Something under the friendliness, the well-made exterior, the just-too-taut jawline and smooth forehead. It was like seeing the skull beneath the skin, just for a moment. And again the impression faded almost at once.

The light of the reading lamp next to his seat glowed on his hair as he picked up the sports section and opened it. Rally applied herself to the paper, then realized she was attentively reading the classifieds. Putting the section down, she reached for another and glanced up. Brown had the paper on his lap, his elbow on the arm of the chair, and his eyes on her.

"I believe I'm ready to make that proposition now, my dear."

"Oh, really."

"You seem to enjoy being treated as you deserve. I believe you could come to be a very sophisticated world citizen. Your conformity with my wishes impresses me. How would you like to live in surroundings like this from now on?"

"What do you mean?" She had a very good idea of what he meant.

"In Europe—Paris, Monte Carlo, Zurich. All expenses paid."

"As your bodyguard, you mean."

Brown made a gratified smile. "As my bodyguard."

"Look, I don't think you—"

"A generous salary, an expense account…travel, wardrobe, lodging…and weapons." Brown made a gesture like a pistol with his left hand. "Any guns, any facilities you need for the job, or just to gratify your whims."

"Yeah? What kind of job description are we talking about? Watch your back, day and night? Or _be_ on my back, day and night?"

Brown laughed with a ringing sound, apparently genuinely amused. "How refreshingly blunt you are! I've so rarely encountered such a sense of humor in a woman so attractive."

"Wow, I'm flattered. But I'm going to have to decline that offer, Brown—Sly. I'm an all-American girl. And it occurs to me that the first task I would have as your head of security would be to do something about Bean."

"For which you are uniquely qualified, as I've said."

"No thanks. Bean may be all you think he is, but he's my partner—for now. I'm not the kind to go back on a partnership, once established."

"I understand perfectly. An established partnership…of one day's standing." He looked up at her, his turquoise eyes veiling under his lashes. The expression in them had changed. Rally got up, slowly, and moved behind the sofa. Brown stood and let the paper fall to the carpet. "Rally…"

"What?" Rally backed up and looked for her shoes.

"I've spent the whole evening wishing that this weren't a charade. With such a lovely companion, the time has flown by." He moved closer. Expensive smell, underlain with male musk. He looked so handsome in the soft light that she couldn't stop looking at him, but his beauty had a creepy quality, like a cast from someone else's face. "May I express my admiration?"

"That depends."

He smiled, a faintly corrupt sensuality crawling over his face. The hair on the back of her neck and her arms began to prickle. "Young as you are, you have the assurance of a woman far older. That's a very attractive combination."

"To some people, maybe." Rally stuck her feet into her shoes.

"Oh, you underestimate your appeal, my dear. I'm sure most people would agree with me, though perhaps few men have experienced the ultimate delights of youth. You must have acquired that mature air years ago. I wish I'd made your acquaintance sooner. But I'll settle for this, tonight."

He moved even closer, and in stepping back Rally bumped the wall next to the door. She fumbled for the handle, but Brown caught her hand in his left. "Don't be in such a hurry." His tone was cajoling, but with a hard vein in the softness. He brought her hand to his lips. "Having clapped up a…partnership…with that man out of immediate necessity, you may regret passing up a far more enticing alternative. Seize the moment."

"I don't want to seize anything, Brown." She plucked her hand out of his.

He leaned back, seeming to give her room, and when she relaxed and turned to the door, he put his right hand on the wall and curled his left arm round her waist. Her forward momentum carried her into his arms, and before she knew it, he was kissing her on the throat, his full lips soft on her skin.

Rally froze, Brown's hot breath stroking her neck and shoulder. He put a great deal of meaning into that devouring caress, something like a vampire's bite. It told her about a darker kind of lust than she'd ever encountered before, something that made her squirm at the very hint. She wriggled and pushed against his chest. Maimed hand or not, Brown wasn't a weakling. His strength wasn't half Bean's, but she couldn't immediately break his grip.

"Let me go. I'm going to leave, and I am asking you—"

He kissed her collarbone and the pit of her throat, then enveloped the swell of her voicebox in his lips, pressing down hard enough to render her mute. His mouth moved to the underside of her chin, but for a moment she still couldn't speak. Why, when she had been able to get away from Bean in a similar situation, could she not make Brown release her? Because, she realized, Bean had never considered forcing her into sex.

"Let it happen," Brown murmured in her ear. "I want you."

"N-not a chance! Let me go!"

"Don't fight. Please. Submit and let me take—"

"No!"

"I'm filled with desire just looking at you—I'm burning with it." Brown tilted her face and tried to kiss her mouth, but she turned her head. "Please, relieve my torment. Just once, my lovely little bounty hunter!"

"I said, NO!" She put an elbow into his stomach and wrenched out of his embrace, but he slammed his back against the door, his face red and sweating. He looked far less casual and friendly now.

"You'll screw Bandit, and you tell ME no? I have to wonder about your sanity!"

"I have NOT screwed him! And even if I had—"

"If you don't want to fuck, let me come in your mouth." He fumbled with the fly of his trousers. "Damn, I'm so stiff it almost hurts. This won't take long." He unzipped and reached inside his briefs, grabbed her right hand, yanked it towards him and tried to put it on his rigid penis. "Kneel."

"I think you've forgotten something..."

"Huh?"

_Shh-KLICK!_ The wrist slide shot forward. In her hand sat her cocked .25, her finger on the trigger. The muzzle hovered two inches from his testicles. "There's only so much I'll do for money, Brown, or even for justice. Get your filthy hands off me."

He let go and stepped aside, his hands held out and his face twitching in anger. "And if this destroys our agreement?"

"Well, that'll be just too damn bad." Rally tilted the .25's muzzle slightly upwards. "You and Bean will have to work it out all on your own."

Brown's red face went white. "I'm sorry. Rally, I apologize." He zipped hastily. "I wasn't...I didn't mean to do that. It was...a crazy impulse. You're very beautiful, you know."

"And very young, but I get the impression you'd like it if I was even younger—much younger. That's beyond disgusting." That corrupt sensuality slithered across his features again. "I'm a man of rarefied tastes."

"Wow, that's a fancy way to put it. _Pervert!"_

"That's uncalled for, Rally. I was overcome. I couldn't control myself."

"Bullshit. You're the most controlled man I've ever met. You knew damn well what you were doing and you didn't give a shit if I didn't want it. Even Bean had the basic courtesy to _ask!_ And you're _married?"_

"The best of us...see our plans go awry once in a while. I swear to you, I didn't come up here with the intention—"

"Of forcing yourself on me?"

"Good God, no—"

"Oh, of course. You thought I'd spread my legs automatically, considering you must have spent about seven grand on this evening. Guess what. I'm not that _fucking cheap."_ She picked up her purse and opened the door. "If you've got anything to say about that agreement, call me. I'm not doing any more face-to-face negotiation without Bean Bandit standing right behind me."

"But...he's not part of this any more, is he?" Brown looked panicky. "You didn't tell him about meeting me tonight. Don't leave—I'll go. You can stay here without him. I've arranged it so you don't need his help. Just pay him off afterwards—"

"I had him listen to the call, Brown. He followed us all over town tonight at my suggestion. He's waiting outside the hotel now to pick me up. The next time you try to break up a partnership, I'd suggest you rely a little less on your _personal charm."_ She slammed the door behind her and took the stairs down.

* * *

"Shit," said Brown, low and furious. "God damned fucking _idiot..."_ He got into the Bugatti, slammed its passenger door and began to bite the manicured fingernails on his left hand.

"Boss?" Manichetti peered into the rear-view mirror.

"That would be me. I just blew it. She's not interested. I'm going to have to go with Plan B." Out of an inner pocket of his suit coat, he yanked an airline folder and threw it petulantly into the front. Two airline tickets fluttered out and came to rest in the seat well.

"Kinda gathered that. Considerin' that you came outta there fifteen minutes after you went in." Manichetti pulled away from the curb.

"I don't believe it. I left it a hint in the air...fertilized her imagination and let it work on her all night. Then when payoff time came, she went cold as ice on me. I got a little too...imperative."

"Uh-oh."

"I barely touched her and she's in a rage. Even pulled a gun on me."

"She gonna back out?"

"Jesus." Brown let his head fall backwards. "I'd better pull out all the stops to make sure she doesn't. What a woman. God in heaven, I never thought I'd envy Bean Bandit."

"I thought you said he wasn't screwing her." Manichetti looked down at the tickets and frowned.

"What other explanation could there be? She must be his lover, and of recent vintage if she's still blind to anyone but him. But turning ME down? It makes no sense. What the hell has he got that I haven't got? I beat him all hollow; brains, looks, manners, AND wallet!"

"Well..."

Brown looked up sharply, teeth engaged with nail. "You have some word of advice?"

"Aah, well, take it for whatever it's worth, boss. She wasn't gonna go for it no matter what."

"What? You think she's a dyke?" Brown's expression lightened. "Now that makes me feel a little better—"

"Not exactly." Manichetti made a quick grimace. "She ain't the kind that lets a man get under her skin, and she ain't interested in fancy trimmings. I was watchin' her in the mirror all night. Makin' polite, but that's all. She wasn't one damn bit impressed."

Brown's face turned red. "Not impressed? Not _impressed?_ When I take a woman out on the town, I know DAMN WELL HOW TO FUCKING IMPRESS HER!"

"Have it your way, boss. You don't pay me for my blindin' insight."

"You son of a bitch. I didn't ransom you from the Gambinos to be told I don't know how to deal with women, or anyone else, for that matter. What's the last time YOU got laid, lard-ass? Too much fucking lasagne on your gut and too much time sitting behind a wheel! You fucking DRIVERS! The next time you feel inspired to give me advice, you ugly wop, stuff it up your ass!"

Manichetti lowered his eyes, avoiding the rear-view mirror, but out of Brown's sight his face stiffened, his lips clamping tight. The tension relieved itself with an ironic smile, but his mouth still twitched with anger. "Consider it stuffed, boss. Home?"

"Home. I'm going to give my wife a call on the secure line...maybe I can get through this time. My little Tiffany will be asleep, but she'll wake up to talk to her daddy."

"Kid loves her daddy," said Manichetti, looking out at the night.

* * *

Rally opened the car door and slipped quickly inside the little Honda, but when the dome light went on Bean looked at her, his sharp eyes taking in her expensive outfit and disordered hairdo, and lingered on her face until the door shut and the light turned off again. She knew her expression would give him some idea of what had happened. His brows went down.

"What the hell did he do to you?"

"Not a thing." She took off her jacket.

"OK, what the hell did he try to do?"

"Just about what you'd expect." Bean unlatched his door with a thunderous expression, starting to roll out, and Rally stopped him with a hand on his arm. "For once I'd almost tell you to go ahead and break his skull. But you'll never find him anyway, and we only have to put up with him for another twenty-four hours. I'm perfectly all right. Let it be."

Bean let out a long breath of disgust and settled back in his seat. "OK, fine."

"Let's go home."

"Home sweet home." Bean pulled the car out into traffic and turned on the heater.

"I'm going to have to apologize to you."

"What for?"

"For wondering why he rubs you the wrong way. I get the picture now."

"Yeah?"

It wasn't a long drive back to the Sandpiper Inn, and soon they entered their hotel room, Bean jamming the sticky door shut behind them. The worn carpet and dingy upholstery seemed honestly shabby, at least; here she felt perfectly comfortable in a psychic sense. Rally smiled at her fleeting regret for thick plush carpet and silk wallpaper—at that price, nothing was cheap. She kicked off her shoes. "I'm going to take a shower, because I can still smell his cologne." She wiped her neck where Brown had kissed her. "I feel slimed."

Bean gave her an _I-told-you-so_ grin, and she stuck her tongue out at him and went into the bathroom with her new sweats. Stripping the Versace dress off, she dropped it in a heap on the floor and stepped on it. "Hey, Bean?"

"What?"

"Lend me your knife."

"Which one?"

"Doesn't matter as long as it's sharp." She heard him chuckle, then the switchblade skidded under the door. She caught it up and pressed the button. The blade shot out of the handle, long and razor-thin. "Perfect. I'm going to flush three grand down the toilet."

"Huh?"

"Brown paid for the dress."

"Heh heh heh..."

Rally held the hem down with one foot and ripped the dress lengthwise with one satisfying stroke and not a moment's regret. In a minute she had it in ribbons. Thinking better of clogging the toilet with Spandex, she picked the strips up in handfuls and dumped them into the garbage. "Good riddance to bad rubbish," she muttered.

"Rally? What's up with him now? He gonna go through with it?"

"I don't CARE—" She bethought herself of Bean's money again. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, what alternative has he got?"

"With me around? Not much."

"Thanks for the reminder, Bean…" She stepped into the shower and let the water rinse away every lingering trace of Brown.

* * *

"This is she?" 426 examined a photograph taken from a security camera tape. "What is her name, Huang?"

"I do not know yet," replied the young man who had handed it to him. "I am attempting to find out, but none of our databases has a match. They are only complete for the West Coast and Asia. But I am certain that it is the same woman, from the description." They spoke Cantonese as they sorted through a pile of photographs showing a dark-red Bugatti and its occupants. Several views of Rally and Brown in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental sat on top, and one shot was a close-up of the two awkwardly kissing outside the elevator.

"Incredible. It is obvious that even his simplest action is fraught with deceit." He threw down the photograph in disgust. "Where is her car at present?"

"It is still in Buttonkettle. The location readout has shifted only slightly since the transmitter was installed, so I assume that the mechanic has merely put it in another part of the garage."

"That may have been a wasted effort, but I wish to be informed at once if there is any change."

"Yes, sir."

"And her young friend is still in Buttonkettle as well?"

"Yes, sir. I talked with her for a few moments, and she intends to stay until the repairs are complete."

"Is she this woman's lover?"

"The girl? I don't know, sir, but I had considered the possibility."

426 briefly covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes warming as if the thought of smiling had entered his head. He seemed about to speak, but a knock sounded on the door of the office, and Huang rose to open it. Two men in flashy suits haltingly entered and bowed deeply to 426, who glanced at them.

"I am told that you have made a spectacle of yourselves. Again."

"Sir," replied one, who had a gold tooth and a bad perm, "we had no intention—"

"I will not listen to your ridiculous excuses, you son of a diseased whore. You are demoted two ranks. 81, come here." The other man, his head hanging, stepped forward and bowed so low he nearly hit his nose on his kneecaps. His right hand hung bandaged in a sling, and he wore a gold stud in one ear. 426 went on in English. "I am ashamed to be related to you, 81. What have you to say?"

"Nothing, honored uncle."

"That is as it should be. Dog!" 426 struck the man across the face. "Are you possessed with demons? I am informed that you drew a gun on the street in a petty dispute. Is this the behavior of a Triad?"

"No, sir."

426 struck him again. "Your father's spirit is groaning in shame, 81. It charges me to beat this foolishness out of you!" The man took the blows silently, only grunting when 426 chopped him in the stomach. The gold-toothed man watched with blinking grimaces while Huang tapped on a computer. "I am finished," said 426 at length, rubbing the edge of his hand. "Be grateful that I still think you worth the trouble."

"Sir." 81 bowed and turned to go. He saw one of the discarded photographs and let out a small sound of anger.

"What was that?" snapped 426.

"Sir, I ask permission to speak."

"What is it?"

"That's the bitch." He pointed at the photograph.

"Excuse me?"

"The one with the big dude. The one that shot—" He indicated his shoulder. "The bitch with the gun."

"She is the one who arrested you?"

"Yes, honored uncle."

"In company with a man of large stature?"

"Yes, sir; big as shit, with a weird red car. They started talking to Sam."

426 almost smiled. "Did she happen to introduce herself?"


	6. Chapter 6

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Six**

"God, Roy! I can't tell you what a friendly face means to me right now." Rally gave Roy Coleman a quick hug and patted his .38 revolver through his coat. "Did you have breakfast yet?"

"On the plane." Roy looked a little weary, but squeezed her arm in return. "If you can call coffee and a miniature croissant-wich at 5 A.M. 'breakfast'. These two shady characters met me at the airport, but I rented a car."

"Oh, hi." She smiled at the two black-suited FBI agents behind him in the lobby of the Sandpiper Inn. "I'm Rally Vincent. Roy tell you all about me?"

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Vincent." The older of the two, a burly, crew-cut man, shook her hand. "I'm Agent Smith. And this is Agent Wesson—never mind the joke, hmm? We've heard it a few too many times." His companion, about Brown's age and studious-looking, rolled his eyes.

"Perish the thought." Rally's smile wilted. "Come on up to the room and we can talk there."

In the elevator, she gave Roy another impulsive hug. Roy cleared his throat and patted her shoulder. "Glad to see you too, kid." His black beard twitched with a smile. "But I thought you didn't want me to take the trouble."

"Oh, that was stupid of me. I'm glad you did. Not that I couldn't have handled it on my own, of course!" Rally stuck out her tongue.

"Where's this hired muscle of yours?"

"Not in my hotel room, Roy!" She gave a suddenly nervous giggle and put a hand over her mouth. Smith and Wesson looked at each other. Roy cleared his throat again and put his hands in his pockets, raising his eyebrows in their direction. Rally got the message and subsided. The rest of the ride to the eighth floor was silent.

* * *

"So how bad does it stink, Bob?" said Agent Smith to Agent Wesson as they rode down to the lobby alone three quarters of an hour later. "Army latrine, or rotting fish heads? No, a maggoty piece of road kill, sizzling on the pavement on a hot summer day...surrounded by rotting fish heads."

"You're a fucking poet, Pete."

Smith grinned, his heavy face lighting up with quirky humor. "You want to go to the wharf for lunch? I got a coupon for a steak and chowder special."

"Ah...I'm going to eat at my desk today, thanks."

"Heh, heh. What, waiting for Brown to call YOU? If he hasn't done it already, my friend, I don't think he will. This is his deal and there's nothing we can do about it."

Wesson shook his head and pushed his glasses up his nose. "This makes no sense. Why drag a Chicago bounty hunter into it?"

Smith shrugged eloquently. "How the hell should I know? I gave him the info he asked for, but he never said why he wanted it. He's a squirrely bastard, but he's not dumb, so he must have a reason. He might be playing Vincent for a fool, but I don't know. Her street rep is pretty high. The SAC in Chicago had some good things to say. Maybe we're missing something."

"How? Did Brown meet her last week on his trip East? And suddenly decide to do the silly kid a big favor for no discernible reason?"

"If we had the budget to chase him all over the damn country, I'd have gone out to Chicago too and kept an eye on him. Obviously more went on last week than his little 'recruitment drive'."

"Does Vincent have any connection to that Chicago courier? The guy Brown was trying to hire?"

"Nothing in the file about her, no." Smith scratched the back of his neck. "But then that file doesn't even have a name on it, besides 'Roadbuster'. Mostly holes in place of facts. She could be his frickin' business partner for all we know." Both agents laughed sarcastically. "No, if Brown has something to give to the kid, I'd bet it's below the belt..."

"You might be right, considering that he's never given a damn how young they are." Wesson pinched his lips together.

"Oh, that reminds me." Smith pointed a finger at him. "How's the extraction operation coming?"

"Not so fast—that is, I'm stalling until he gets us some more information." Wesson pushed his glasses up again. "Both on the situation at his house, and on that courier. He's been claiming he's got a big file on the guy."

"I'm gonna believe that when I see it." Smith snorted.

"Ditto. So now what?"

"Sit tight and wait. If Brown's serious about giving himself up, at least we've bagged him. If not, why interfere when we don't know his intentions? This might be something personal with Miss Vincent. We give her any info or tell her about our contacts with Brown, we probably sink our own operation. She got herself into it and she can get herself out."

"Not our business, then."

"Not our business." Smith smiled, and Wesson did as well. "Never let it be said that the Bureau doesn't mind its own business."

* * *

"Oooh," moaned Rally as she shut the door behind Smith and Wesson. "How did that go, Roy?"

Roy made a noncommittal face. "OK, I guess."

"Do you think they even believed me? That Wesson guy hardly said a word, and I don't think Smith ever heard there was such a thing as women's liberation. I haven't been called 'little lady' since I was in school!"

"Mmm." Roy looked out the window at the grimy street. "It's not like there aren't some strange aspects to this deal, Rally. I'm glad they're gone—I wish I could have discussed the whole thing with you beforehand. I wanted to let you thrash out all the details without two Feds staring at you." He faced around and folded his arms. "So now's the time. I want the whole truth, kid, and I want it now."

"Uh…"

A knock sounded on the door, and Rally jumped. It couldn't be Bean, could it? But he wasn't supposed to show his face in the hotel while Roy was here, let alone FBI agents. Another knock.

"You going to get that?" Roy looked at her.

Rally reluctantly touched the knob. "Who is it?"

"Ms. Rally Vincent?"

"Yes..." Rally opened the door a crack but kept the chain in place. "What is it?"

"Package for you, ma'am. I'm a courier."

"Courier?" She opened the door a little wider.

A young woman, neatly dressed in a miniskirted suit. She held up a small red bag with cord handles and smiled. "Special delivery."

Roy peered over her shoulder. "That looks like it's from a store."

"Yes, sir. "

"Who's it from?" said Rally suspiciously.

"Ma'am, I got a call to pick this up and deliver it to you. That's all I can tell you."

"All right..." Rally took the bag. "Do I need to sign anything?"

"No, ma'am. Bye now." She bowed slightly and left.

"What the hell is it?" asked Roy.

Rally put the bag down on the table and looked it over carefully. "Doesn't weigh much. Not enough for a bomb." She sniffed the air above the bag. "No smell. I wish May were here to check it, but it seems to be kosher." She lifted out the small box the bag contained. "What? This looks like...jewelry?"

"There's a card," said Roy.

Rally retrieved it and read.

With sincerest apologies and hope for your understanding and forgiveness. Rally, I am deeply ashamed of my weakness and I place myself at your mercy. Please accept this token of my esteem and regard me evermore as

Your humble servant, S.G.B.

"This is from Brown?" Roy made a face.

"Who else? God, he lays it on thick." She examined the little box; red satin with gold-embossed Chinese characters. "From a Chinatown jewelry store? How fancy could that be?" She flipped it open, and gasped.

"Holy name." Two deep-blue oval stones set in diamond frames glittered in the sunlight from the window. Roy picked up one of the earrings and squinted at it.

"Are th-those REAL?" stammered Rally. "They're bigger than nickels!"

"Yeah. I took a gemology course when I was on the anti-fencing task force. That's a Sri Lankan sapphire...or rather, two perfectly matched ones of about forty carats each." He whistled. "These must have cost him twice my annual salary, and I've got twenty-eight years of seniority."

Rally grabbed the earring from Roy, thrust it back in the box, and threw the box in the bag. "Maybe I can catch her. There is no way in hell I am keeping these!" She put on her jacket and opened the door.

"Hold on! Why not?"

"I'll explain later! I don't want this package in my hands one second longer!" She ran down the hallway to the elevator. Just as she arrived in the lobby, a car pulled away from the curb outside: a new red Mustang GT. The courier was gone. "Damn!" She briefly considered throwing the bag into the gutter for some passerby to find, but decided against it. Brown had to get it back intact. She rode back up to the eighth floor and returned to the room where Roy waited.

"Too late?"

"Yes, damn it all. I do NOT want his presents!" She threw the bag on the table.

"Explain?"

"He...he's apologizing for finding me a little too attractive last night. I had to show him a gun to get him to understand plain English."

"He what?" Roy stood up.

"What did you expect from a guy who's used to buying anything he wants?" Rally shrugged her shoulders. "I got his number now—for a smart man, he's pretty stupid about some things. I mean, sending me jewelry? I'd've thought it was obvious I'm not the kind to go all soft over some rocks!"

"Pretty handsome apology." Roy took out the box and opened it again.

"Oh, he's got the moves down, if he remembers to keep the charm turned on. It's all a game to him. I don't have to deal with him past tonight, so I don't care. I'll take these with me and put them right back in his hand. He bought these with drug money." Rally sniffed and averted her gaze from the gems glowing in Roy's hand.

"He sure can pick 'em, though." Roy shook his head, looking at the earrings and then glancing at her face. "They match just about exactly."

"What, the stones? Didn't the jeweler do that?"

"No, the stones match your eyes." His smile was sincere, but a little rueful. "It's a wonderful choice. I wish I could see you wear them, just once."

"Roy!"

"Sorry."

"I don't need YOU tempting me, too!"

"Good, you're not impervious!"

"Of course not! They're beautiful! I know better than to go trying on things I know I can't have!" She sat down hard on the hide-a-bed where Bean had slept the night before, and a hint of his scent welled up around her. "Uhh...usually." She got up again and sat in the lone upholstered chair.

"All right, you'll give them back. Can't say I blame you. But now…" Roy sat opposite her. "I was asking you about—"

Rally's cell phone rang, and Roy rolled his eyes and leaned back on the hide-a-bed. She answered. "Rally Vincent here."

"Good morning, Rally." It was Brown. Great timing!

"Hello, Brown." She darted a glance at Roy, who sat up straight. "Sleep well?"

"In point of fact, no. I'm devastated at the thought that I may have offended you. I am deeply—"

"OK, whatever. Let me tell you something, Sly. I am not interested in your personal integrity or your lack of same or the soft, slimy underbelly of your psyche. All I want to do is turn you in to the FBI and let you take down the Dragons, and you could be Jack the Ripper and the Boston Strangler combined, and I still would not want to hear about it. Got that? Good. Now, let's talk turkey. Tonight, eleven o'clock. Anything changed?"

"Unfortunately, yes. The Dragons know who you are."

Rally felt a shock go through her. "Oh, no."

"Someone identified you last night. They know you are a bounty hunter, and they know you are working with Bean Bandit." Brown sounded shaky. "I've just been released from an all-night grilling session. I managed to convince the leadership that my assignation with you was all part of my plan to recruit Mr. Bandit. But it wasn't easy."

"Excuse me? Recruit…him?" She glanced at Roy.

"Ah…" That was a gasp of sheer panic. "Ah, no; I hadn't told you about the details of that. I'm still supposed to be attempting to hire Mr. Bandit as a courier for the Dragons. If I fail, it's the death sentence. But of course the effort is futile—"

"So you called me instead."

"Exactly." The man sounded desperate. Strained and ragged: he seemed to be breathing through a constricted throat. "Please, Rally. I know I'm not a shining specimen of humanity, but you've got to get me out. You've got to."

"I'd like to know how you think it's going to get done now. If they know who I am—and I have to say, the only one you've got to blame for that is yourself—then I can't get anywhere near that pier." A sudden thought sent a grin across her face. "Hey, I do know someone who can get me in there! And out again, which is more important."

"What? Who?"

"Expect your visit, Brown. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel." She laughed out loud. The initials did match, though 'sidekick' was not her job description! "I'll be there, and we'll go ahead as planned."

"But…but…who are you bringing with you? What if they—"

"Nope. No details this time. This one's my call, and I'm doing it my way. If you think I'm going to tell you what's on my mind after last night…"

"A-all right." Brown didn't sound happy. "I should get off this line anyway. I'll call again later." He hung up.

"Well, he's sure lost a few points in self-esteem since I saw him." Rally hung up with a laugh.

"All to the good, I'd say."

"Sounds like it. Does that mean you can trust his intentions now?" Roy raised a brow.

"Mmm." That she couldn't promise, but if Brown could keep his fool mouth shut when he found out that Bean Bandit was on the rescue team, maybe he could still come out of this alive...

* * *

"Tom, you got a minute?"

O'Toole looked up from his Colt .45, which he had disassembled over the surface of a scratched formica table. Beside it lay rags and a can of gun-cleaning fluid. The stink of the fluid mixed with the smell of the firing range on his coveralls, perfuming the entire room: a small kitchenette at the back of a large house. "Yeah, whad'a ye want?"

Manichetti pulled out a plastic patio chair and sat down at the table, running a shaky hand over his pale forehead. "I got to talk to you, man."

"Mr. Brown all right?" O'Toole sat up straighter.

"He's upstairs and just dandy. Went to bed, and I'm gonna do the same. Lucky he told me what the story was before they separated us." Manichetti took a deep breath. "I found out something last night. You ain't gonna believe this."

O'Toole grunted and pulled a rag through the barrel of the Colt.

"He wasn't just tryin' to recruit that gal to take care of Bandit for us. He had a couple plane tickets to Milan. Threw 'em in the front seat, then he grabbed 'em and tore 'em up." Manichetti waited for a response. "Dont'cha want to know who for?"

"Ye're tellin' the yarn, boyo."

"For him and for the Vincent gal." Again he waited for a response. "Man, dont'cha see? He was gonna make a break for it!"

"Ain't that the idea?" said O'Toole, imperturbable.

"Without us? Without Sarah—the missus and the kid? He was gonna leave Miss Tiffany to that goddamn child-killin' 426?" His voice rose an octave, his face reddening.

"'Course not." O'Toole's expression finally changed. He began to reassemble the gun. "He's all set up fer us in Switzerland. And didn't he say himself it was all under control?"

"He ain't done shit! So he talked to the frickin' Eff Bee Aye! How're a buncha damn Feds gonna figure out how to get past that Dragon cordon around the L.A. house? Hell, I know guys that could do it without breakin' a sweat, but they don't work in no office building."

O'Toole finished his work, filled the magazine and shoved it into the Colt's butt. He got up and opened the refrigerator to peer at its grimy interior. "Yeh drink all that Guinness?"

"No, you SOB, you drunk it. I think it tastes like burned toast, remember? You listenin' to me?"

O'Toole took out a bottle and scrabbled among the dirty dishes in the sink for a glass. Pulling out the cork with his teeth, he upended the bottle over the smeary glass. Only a trickle came out. "Shite, out've whiskey too. What'm I goin' ta have fer breakfast?"

"Don't you get it? He was gonna dump us!" Manichetti shouted. "Mr. Brown's gonna let the Chinks waste us and kill the girls too! He don't give a shit! All he cares about is his own goddamn skin! That fuckin' ass—"

A cold barrel dented the end of his nose with a pair of fiery eyes above it. The sound of glass and bottle shattering against the wall reached Manichetti's ears only after the Colt hit his face. "Yeh shut up now, yeh hear?" hissed O'Toole. "If ye care about yer own Eye-tie skin, that is!"

"Get that thing off me, you Irish moron!"

"I don't want to hear nothin' against Mr. Brown, see? Keep yer damn mouth off him! He's takin' care of it, isn't he now? It's 'is own wife and kid to deal with, isn't it? What the hell do ye care about that hoity-toity snip an' her snotty brat?"

"Yeah, I know," sneered Manichetti. "You wouldn't give a damn if Mrs. Brown got strangled with a bit of wire, wouldja? I been wonderin' how long it was gonna take you!"

"What d'ye mean?"

"You'd like him all to yourself, wouldn'tcha, Tommy? I seen you lookin' at him undressin' in the bedroom! Every time you get good and drunk you start in about his ass an' his goddamn pretty face—"

"Fock yeh to hell!" yelled O'Toole, turning dark red. "I ain't no fockin' sodomite!" He jammed the gun viciously into Manichetti's nose. "Yeh take that back now!"

"Man, I didn't say that."

"Yeh think I'm a focking pervert with me hands in a fella's drawers? Yeh think I want ta have it up th' shitter? Yeh think I want him suckin' on me—" O'Toole stopped abruptly, his posture changing and gaze sliding away.

"You ain't been thinkin' about it none, I see." Manichetti shrugged and pushed the barrel aside with two fingers. "You better go out and get your damn breakfast—an empty stomach in the morning don't improve your pleasant disposition."

O'Toole made a snarling sound and shoved the Colt into his shoulder holster. Pulling a windbreaker over it, he kicked the outside door open and left.

Manichetti watched him through the kitchen window with narrowed eyes until he had turned the corner. He took a cell phone out of his jacket, glanced at the door that led to the cramped servant's quarters at the back of the house, then went through the outside door and unlocked one of the cars that stood in the driveway. When he had started the engine, he dialed a number. "Hey, Breaker," he said over the engine's roar. "It's ol' Manny. Yeah, long time, hey? You still got the boys in L.A.? Say, I got a big favor to ask, stat, and I don't care what the hell it costs."

* * *

"Did he say that bunch know who you are now?" Roy shifted uneasily. "Are you considering breaking it off?"

"When we've just spilled all the—uh, the beans to the Feds?" Rally laughed. "No, I'm set. He's been trying to control this all along, but I'm in charge now." She rubbed her hands in satisfaction. "Much better."

"Something to do with your hired muscle? Look, I have to say—"

"Uh, yeah." Rally put the earring box in the bag. "Let's go down to the lobby. I want to put these in the safe until tonight."

Roy followed her out and down the hall. "Rally, this whole thing is giving me the creeps. I have to tell you that. I got that feeling on the phone in Chicago, and I've got it even stronger now. It's just crawling up my spine and tickling the back of my neck." Roy pushed the button for the lobby and the elevator doors closed.

"The Feds didn't bat an eye." Rally frowned at the wall of the elevator. "Frankly, they hardly said a word..."

"They are not the ones taking the risk. Like walking into a den of mobsters alone!"

"No, not alone."

"With your mystery man? Rally, I think I want to take this guy's measure before the operation goes down."

"Uh...oh, Roy, I don't think that's necessary."

"Why not?"

Meet Bean? Roy didn't know him by sight, but introducing the two men could be an even bigger risk than anything she would run into tonight. "I'm not going unarmed, for heaven's sake. You know me—I'm far from defenseless!"

"I suppose not. What are you going to use?"

"I didn't bring all that much with me—I've got my little .25 auto, the one I usually put on the wrist slide."

"Not a lot of stopping power!"

"No, but I can't get anything else in time! Who's going to waive the California TEN-day wait for me out here in the Bay Area, ground zero for gun control? It'll have to do. If all goes as planned, I won't have to bring it into play." The elevator doors opened to the lobby. Rally checked the earring bag in with the desk clerk and saw it locked into the hotel safe. She tucked her receipt into a pocket. "All set!"

"What about some cover?"

"Hmm—you know, I'm thinking about that. Going in as myself is not what I had in mind…but I have an idea. I'm going to have to go shopping—nothing I have fits the bill."

"Such as?" Roy looked suspicious.

"The obvious, I guess." Rally cocked a hip and fluffed her hair. "Let's just say I'll try to draw attention away from my face! But when May gets here, she can help me make up. She, uh, kind of knows the style."

"Wonderful. So where we going now?"

"To the garage." She pointed at the door of the separate garage elevator opposite the hotel bar. "Where's your rental car?"

"I parked it in the visitor's spaces on the first level."

"OK, take me out for breakfast! All I've had this morning is coffee, and it sounds like you're hungry too."

"So where are you keeping your hired man?"

"Well, he's not really hired. He's working for...percentages." The garage elevator started downwards.

"Oh, he heard about the reward? Hope you didn't promise him too much of it."

"We're still kind of haggling over that." Rally grimaced. "He's pretty independent."

"He is starting to sound like a wild card, Rally. Is that why he's staying in hiding?"

Rally looked up at Roy, startled. He'd used her phrase to describe Bean without ever having seen him! "I promised him I wouldn't let the Feds see him. But there are no warrants out for him, Roy—it's not like that. He's just being careful."

"I'll bet." They left the elevator and walked towards a silver Ford Focus in the visitor spaces. "All right, Rally; out with it. This man's not exactly an upstanding citizen, is he?"

She gulped. "Um..."

"I see. Look, I understand if he was the best you could get on short notice, but you should have just told me."

Rally chewed her lips. "I gave him my word I wouldn't expose him. Roy, he's not dangerous! I mean..."

"I'm just an out-of-state cop. If he's a local, I wouldn't have a clue about his background, and frankly, I don't care if he's some kind of small-time operator. I know we good guys sometimes have to make use of all possible resources to get things accomplished, and I won't pass judgment. I only want to get a sense if you are likely to be facing a problem from both sides tonight. In all my years on the force, I've learned to pay attention to my gut instincts about people." Roy took her by the shoulders and examined her face with a serious expression. "Maybe this man has some kind of expertise you need. But so do I, Rally, and I'm your friend."

"...All right, Roy." Rally took out her cell phone. "I need to give him some warning."

"Fine, you do that." Roy got into his car and closed the door. She walked a few steps away and called Bean's number. The connection in the garage wasn't very good; his voice sounded dim and distorted when he picked up.

"Yeah? Who's callin'?"

"Rally. Are you still nearby?"

"Yeah, I was takin' a nap in the car." He yawned; after another short night, they had risen at five. "What's up?"

"We've seen the Feds, and they've left. Brown sent me a package and called when he knew I'd gotten it, to apologize. Everything's still on for tonight, though with a few changes of plan. I've been talking to Roy..."

"OK."

"Bean, he insists he has to meet you. I'm afraid he's not going to give up the idea. Can you pull it off face to face?"

"Pull what off?"

"Give him a fake name and make small talk for a few minutes. I think he's imagining you're some low-life who's going to stab me in the back the moment I turn around!"

Bean muttered something indistinguishable.

"I'm sorry, but it'll be over quick! Please, Bean? Just smile and act natural, OK? We should let the air out of his worries before they get too oversized."

"Yeah, whatever. Just a damn Chicago cop, huh?" Bean yawned again.

"He's not dumb, but there's nothing to tell him you two run on the same home streets. For all he knows, you're from around here, so let him think that. Do you want me to bring him to you, or will you come instead?"

"I'm right where you parked me, babe." Bean clicked off.

"Hey, if your Cobra's wrecked, what are you driving? A rental?" Roy grinned at her as he drove down to the third level of the parking garage. "What did they give you—a Geo Metro?"

"Ha, ha. No, we've been using his car." They drew abreast of Buff. "Here we are. This is the wild card."

"What? This car?" Roy braked and pulled into an empty spot. "Wow. That's a hell of a machine." He stopped the Ford and both of them got out. "Whoa. I've seen that before, somewhere."

"Oh. Really?" Rally felt a little jolt of alarm, but rapped on the driver's window. She could see Bean stretched out in the seat, which was reclined all the way back. With a newspaper draped over his chest, his hands behind his head and his mouth open, he seemed to have fallen asleep again. "Hey! Wake up!" Buff's armor plate and bulletproof glass blocked nearly all sound unless the external mike was on. Bean didn't stir.

"What's his name, anyway?"

"I think I'll let him introduce himself. If he ever comes to, that is." Rally kicked the driver's door, barely rocking the car. She drew her CZ75 and rapped sharply on the glass with the butt. "Dammit! Wake up!"

Roy shaded his eyes and peered through the windshield. "I know I've seen this car." He cocked his head and looked up and down Buff's lines. "Huh—it looks like a picture someone showed me—"

Bean opened one eye and turned his head. Rally pounded on the window again and gestured. He yawned cavernously, stretched his elbows back and tossed the newspaper onto the passenger seat before reaching for the door handle.

"Holy shit." Roy stepped back defensively as Bean got out and straightened up. He overtopped the compactly built detective by an easy ten inches.

"You Roy Coleman?" Bean gave him a pleasant nod.

"Yeah. Chicago PD. I'm an old friend of Rally's. Who the hell are you?"

Bean glanced at Rally. "What'd she tell you?"

"Nothing. Just that she was riding with you for the moment. In that car, I assume." Roy examined Bean's face and build with an analytical eye.

"Yeah, it's my car. Call me Bill." Bean extended a hand to Roy, who took it after a moment's hesitation.

"Bill, huh?" Roy dropped the handshake. "You're from Chicago, aren't you?"

"Chicago?" The line of Bean's shoulders went rigid; his eyes flashed momentarily to Rally. "I got California plates on this jalopy, 'case you ain't noticed."

"Yes, you do. Very nice: current registration and everything. Whose car do they actually belong to…Bill?"

Bean said nothing, but chewed his jaw back and forth. Rally's stomach turned over; she had dreaded something exactly like this.

Roy smiled. "Yes, I know that car. And I know you."

"Got the advantage of me there, Detective." Bean hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets with an indifferent air.

"Then I'll tell you a little story about a colleague of mine named Percy. He had a picture of that car from an investigation he was on. The getaway vehicle from the First Bank of Chicago heist last November. And he had a picture of the driver, taken through the windshield." Bean raised his eyebrows and put on his sunglasses. Roy gave an amused snort, as if he'd scored a point. "Wasn't a real clear shot, as I recall. Percy was mad about that. He filled in some details for me, since he'd seen him firsthand. He said 'Long jaw, X-shaped scar over nose, shit-eating grin. Built like a Sherman tank on stilts.'"

"My man Percy," said Bean, exhibiting the described grin.

"He also said, 'Arrest on sight.'"

"Roy! You can't arrest him!"

"I can't arrest him here anyway." Roy looked at her. "I don't have a warrant and I haven't seen him do anything illegal. But this guy's way past a small-time operator, Rally. I hope you know that."

Bean and Rally looked at each other blankly. Bean smirked, Rally giggled, and suddenly they laughed out loud together. Bean held his ribs, whooping, and Rally wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.

"Believe me, Roy, I do know that. Stop being such a nanny-goat!"

Roy was doing a slow burn.

"C'mon, I've had some run-ins with him before in Chicago. He's not misleading me about his intentions." She patted Roy's shoulder. "He led me to Brown and he's interested in getting me the snatch. Don't ask for details. All I need is a guarantee that the Feds and the San Francisco PD aren't going to nab him while he's helping me."

"I can't give you a guarantee like that! The Feds do what they damn well please, you know that. I don't even have any relatives on the force here. And I do need the details, dammit!" Roy turned red. "You think you can tell me nothing about your dealings with a guy I know is involved in some pretty heavy criminal activity? What's the angle here? He porking you?"

"Roy!" Rally flinched back from him. Bean sucked his lower lip against his teeth with a slight sound.

Roy gritted his teeth in chagrin and klonked a fist to his forehead. "Sorry. That is none of my business, Rally, and I apologize." He glared at Bean. "But you tell me everything about this deal, and I do mean everything, or I can't guarantee jack-shit."

"What do you say?" Rally raised her brows at Bean.

He heaved a sigh and took off his sunglasses. "Hey, Detective. My name's Bean Bandit."

"No...fucking...shit," said Roy, his voice drenched with sarcasm.

* * *

"HALF A MILLION DOLLARS! Jesus H. Christ, Rally! You LIED to me—" A couple of heads in the little sidewalk café snapped around when Roy shouted, and he quickly dropped his voice.

"I left some of it out, Roy. And I know I shouldn't have. But I didn't know you were going to come out here at first, and then...well, I made him a promise and I wanted to keep it." Rally gulped her latte and laced her fingers together on the small marble-topped table. "I told you this in confidence. It's not a way for me to get out of my obligations."

"What obligations? Sounds like you've done him a lot more favors than he's done you." Roy slumped in his chair, his cheese omelet congealing untouched on his plate. "What's he really done, besides give you a lift here and there?"

"This was his deal. I'm the one that made it my business. I don't know—what's that old proverb? Save someone's life and he becomes your responsibility?"

"That's a Chinese proverb, I think." Roy downed his orange juice as if it were a boilermaker. "What the hell have I got myself into?"

"And this isn't over yet. We have no idea what is going to happen tonight. We scouted out the pier last night. There was a lot of activity until about one in the morning, and then they posted a few guards and it went quiet."

"And you go in at eleven?"

"Yeah, me and my little pistol."

"What about Bean?"

"Bean's going to drive me there and...well, he's coming in with me. I haven't outlined my whole plan to him yet, but I'm sure he won't mind."

"What? I thought Brown—"

"Yes, I know. I'll transfer Brown to my car at the hotel, leave Bean and the suitcase there and then deliver my prize to the FBI. If he loses his lunch at the sight of Bean, tough. He deserves a good scare, the slimy creep."

"Maybe he does. Does Bean deserve half a million dollars in drug money?"

"Of course not. But, Roy, please—you made me tell you, but please don't make me tell the FBI! I'm insisting that half of it go to them—I'll deliver it later. They'll be happy to get it if they don't know there's another quarter million involved. Brown won't tell them that part. He's too scared of Bean."

"Has Bean agreed to this? Splitting it, I mean?"

"Not quite, no. But we're partners. He wouldn't get any of it if it weren't for my help. He knows that. He's still haggling, sure, but we do have an agreement."

"Just what the hell makes you so sure he's going to keep his part of the bargain? I mean, for a fraction of that kind of money, I've seen murders done."

"Heh..." Rally thought about Bean's cold rage in the car duel on I-5. "I don't know, Roy. It's just a feeling I have."

"Maybe you're right." Roy threw up his hands. "I could tell he likes you. Sorry about that comment."

"It's all right. I know you're only concerned about me. Bean, um, isn't my lover, by the way."

"You don't have to tell me that, Rally. It really is none of my business." Roy paused a moment. "But thanks, anyway. How about your source?"

"I'm going to visit him for lunch. He sets a good table."

"Saving room?" Roy looked at her bran muffin.

"Want it? I'm not all that hungry."

"Sure, thanks." He took it and broke it in half. "I should not be doing this, Rally. I'm biting my tongue here. I'm a cop and I should be swearing out a warrant on that man, because he's been a thorn in the side of the Chicago PD for years. You may have your obligations, but I've got my duty."

"I know, Roy."

"I'm not in Chicago, though. This is California, and if the SFPD doesn't have a beef with Bean, it's not strictly my business to create one for them. And frankly..." Roy smiled and took a bite of bran muffin. "I am no more a fan of the Men in Black than any city cop is. They actually ordered me not to contact the SFPD on Brown, as if that would dilute their credit. If they can't figure out what's right under their noses, screw 'em."

"You didn't cotton to Smith and Wesson either, huh?"

"Christ. I'd rather have Mulder and Scully. How about that cute red-head lady?" They had a companionable laugh, and finished breakfast.

After they'd paid their bill, they walked back to where Roy had parked his rental car on the street. The air sparkled with morning sunlight and a whiff of the ocean, though the water wasn't visible from this part of the city. It was warm enough for her jacket to seem a little too much, but a hint of mist hung in the air, just a suggestion of damp and fog. "What's your plan for today, Roy?"

"You want me to come along to see your source?" He unlocked the passenger door and held it for her.

"No...he might spook. I've sort of got a personal angle on him..."

"Oh yeah? Is it going to be a date?" Roy grinned and started the car.

"Not really. A working lunch. But I was wondering what to do until then...it's barely eight-thirty, the stores aren't going to open until ten, and I really wanted to do my shopping with May. When she gets here."

"And she's due when?"

"They got the part last night and they are going to install it this morning. So she'll be able to leave about noon and it's less than three hours from Buttonkettle to here. Plenty of time to hit the malls."

"That's less than three hours...when you're riding in that car, huh?" The silver Focus wheezed up a hill.

"He calls it 'The Buff'."

"No kidding. What's he up to right now?"

"I don't know." She thought about the previous night; she and Bean had scouted the pier on foot after leaving Buff a few blocks away, though the pier was only a walk from the hotel. They'd worked smoothly and unremarkably together, with neither arguments nor embarrassing heat, for about two hours. Then they'd retired to the hotel, eaten a late snack, and gone to bed in their separate rooms. Bean had said something about having some bases to cover the next day, and they had settled that he should leave the room early in the morning and stay clear of the hotel after meeting Roy so as not to run into the FBI agents. Rally had decided both of them needed a break from each other's company; at this point, it wasn't likely that he would strike out on his own. If he wanted his share of the money, his best interest lay in sticking with her. She wasn't expecting to see him again until after lunch. "He's working on his end of the deal, I think."

"Let's hope so. Christ, Bean Bandit? He could be up to anything."

"I know you don't approve of this, Roy, or of him. He IS a wild card. But I honestly don't believe he'd ever try to hurt me. And his help could be essential if things get sticky. You know him as a driver, but he's incredible in a fight. I saw him one-on-one versus Gray and a twelve-gauge and that sword Gray used for a hook."

"When the hell was that? I thought you were the one who killed Gray."

"I did. Because Bean lost the fight—barely. Gray was about to shoot him in the head. He was already badly injured, but he almost beat him, Roy. Barehanded. I've never seen anything like it."

"OK, he's a fighter. The odds are still going to be two versus an entire gang, if something goes wrong."

"Yes. Obviously there are some risks involved, and Brown isn't the least of them. That's why I thought that he should come along, though Brown isn't expecting that. I think the plan's pretty tight, but it doesn't hurt to...have an ace up my sleeve."

Roy was shaking his head, his jaw tight. "I don't like it. It smells. Besides the obvious, I can't get a grasp on just why."

"I'm as prepared as I can be right now, and I'm going to try to get more from my source. Is there anything else you can think of?"

A long harsh sigh. "That gun of yours. It's just too damn small."

"It's got to be compact if I'm going to conceal it. I'm probably going to get frisked."

"You going to use a garter holster?"

"I've got one with me, though the pouch is only a magazine holster—I was going to tinker with it to make it do for the .25, but maybe I should go to a gun store and see if I can get something better. Want to shop with me?"

"I've...got an alternative." Roy stopped at a red light.

"What do you mean?"

Roy's eyes scanned the intersection, his expression faintly guilty. "I want you to get a real gun for this operation. Something I know will protect you. How do you feel about a loaner?"

"You have something?"

"Not me. All I have is my .38 Special."

"That's not much more concealable than my CZ!"

"Of course not. If you could pick any gun, what would you want?"

Rally thought for a moment, mentally scanning catalog pages. "Oooh...I saw something in this year's Autopistols...A North American Arms mini-.32. It's got a two-inch barrel and a six-shot magazine, and they claim you can shoot good groups at up to ten yards...of course, this is me we're talking about, so make that fifteen yards!" She grinned, and Roy rolled his eyes. "That's nothing compared to my CZ75, of course, but impressive for such an itty-bitty gun. If I could get one of those, I'd be happy! It was sooo cute!"

"You scare me sometimes, girl. A cute .32?" The light turned green and Roy moved forward. "That caliber hasn't got massive punch, but I guess I'd feel a little better if you had that rather than that dinky .25. Well, let's go check it out. I don't know if I can get you that exact model, but probably something like it."

"Where?"

"You have to promise me something, Rally..." Roy slowly rubbed the lower part of his face with one hand. "Don't tell anyone where you got the gun. Especially not Smith and Wesson. I don't think they'd approve of a lowly city cop doing an end run around a Federal law. And...well, I could lose my badge for what I'm about to do. If something goes wrong, that is, though I doubt it will." He took a left turn.

"God, Roy, I'll go with the .25!"

"No, you won't. Like I told you yesterday—if something happened because I wasn't there, or didn't do everything I could, I'd never forgive myself. I trust you to pull this off even if I'm feeling cautious. And hell, this is for me in a way. To get a little of that creepy feeling off my back."

"Nothing like firepower for that!"

"Actually, Rally, there's something better." Roy smiled. "Going home to my wife at the end of the day. That's what blows the bad things away for me."

"Oh, Roy, I didn't mean to drag you all the way out here..."

"No, kid, that isn't what I meant. Right now I'm on a job, I guess, even if it's only semi-official. I'm a cop and I do my duty as I see it. That doesn't always mean following the exact letter of the law—sue me, I'm a practical guy—but it does mean I have to do what I believe is right even if there's a risk attached, so I can face myself. That's what keeps me going when the going gets rough. After it's all over, I can put my arms around that lady and forget it all for a little while..." Roy had a faraway look, smiling up at the sky through the windshield.

"Sounds nice."

Roy started and flushed slightly. "Um, well, not to get too personal, but just remembering she's rooting for me pulls me through the worst. And it keeps me honest. I don't want to do anything, or omit anything, that would make her ashamed of me."

"Even when you're thousands of miles away?"

"Especially then. The anticipation of homecoming is the source of the energy. Being away from her just makes it all the stronger."

"Yeah, and in the mean time no one takes out the garbage?"

Roy laughed. "A detective's wife has to put up with a lot. Be careful who you hitch up with, kid. Considering your lifestyle, you are going to have to pick either a homebody or someone who can pace you all the way."

"Like Bean, huh?" It slipped out, spoken as soon as thought, and Rally colored pink. "That's a joke, I think."

"Christ, I hope so." Roy looked grave. "Look, I know he might be the kind who seems sort of...well, I don't know how women think about these things. He's good-looking in his way, and he knocks you over with something—size, maybe, but it's more than that."

"Yes...I know."

"That might seem attractive, um, to girls...but consider what he is. You're right, he has no criminal record. That's because he's been too clever and too ruthless for anyone to arrest him. You know that better than I do. He was on his good behavior when I spoke to him, obviously, but he puts me on my guard, Rally. Especially in regard to you, and I don't mean just...sex. Be careful around him, for God's sake."

"Gosh, Roy, I'm not a baby! He doesn't fool me."

She spoke brashly, but a little incident of the early morning moved up from the depths like a forgotten dream. She'd slept more solidly than she had the night before, but at four she'd risen to visit the bathroom for a drink of water.

The first time she had passed by Bean's bed in the sitting area, he had been asleep and snoring on his back, one arm thrown over his head and the other hand resting on his bare chest. In the light of the city that rose up the hill behind the hotel and shone through the thin curtains, she saw his face clearly. Not exactly softened from its waking aspect, but calm and still, his eyes closed and his lashes resting on his lower lids.

The clarity and power of his face and body stopped her dead for a moment. He had never looked so beautiful to her, like a finely made hunting piece put away in its cabinet. The action had been cleaned and oiled, the stock rubbed until it glowed, the ammunition removed and stored until it would be needed again. Until the danger had to wake in the morning with the sun.

The second time she had passed him on the way back from the bathroom, Bean had been lying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around the pillow. His breathing told her he was awake and she tried to move quickly into her room. At the door, she turned to look back and saw that he had raised his head to watch her. Their eyes met, his shadowed by tendrils of his hair. His expression wasn't something she could read by streetlight. The pull between them felt like a descending piston in the core of her stomach, a hollow vacuum drawing in a volatile mixture.

The danger never slept. If he had moved, if she had taken even one step towards him, the spark would have cracked the cylinder. But she backed through the door and shut it behind her, and then laid her ear against it to hear his long, sighing, quiet groan. For the hour that remained of the night's darkness, she had barely closed her eyes.

"Here we are," said Roy, indicating a large modern concrete and glass building and waiting to make a left turn into its parking garage. "I'll do the talking. You just stand there like a responsible professional."

"This is the main police department offices! You said you didn't know anyone on the SFPD."

"I don't. They're still cops." Roy took out his badge.

"The blue fraternity?"

"Yep. If I can find the right guy to talk to, I know I can scare up some equipment for you."

"Thank you, Roy. I'm so glad you came!" Rally grabbed his arm and hugged it as he pulled into a parking space.

"Whoa, whoa." Roy grinned at her. "Wait until I get some results!"

* * *

"Oooh! It's ADORABLE! Just look at those tiny little sights...and that elegant black stock, too! I can't wait to see how it shoots." Rally held up the mini-.32 and pulled back the slide. The gun was so small it fit on her palm, and its weight felt like nothing.

"You like your firearms, I can tell," said the grinning SFPD armorer. "It feels good in the hand, I can tell you that—and your hands are smaller than mine. You can get a two-finger grip where I can only get one and a half."

"And people wonder why a nice young woman like me wants to be a bounty hunter! When I get to play with toys like these?" Rally sighted at the clock on the wall, her trigger finger held straight out. "May I use your firing range, please?"

"Be my guest. I'm curious to see how well the 'Guardian' performs for you. I've only issued it once, for an undercover operation, and it never was used. Only got it last month, and I sighted it in, but I never did better than three-inch groups at ten yards. I'm more of a Colt .45 guy." He opened a cabinet and took out a box. "Silver Tips. Stick with Winchester ammo in this one."

Down in the basement room, Rally put on a pair of ear protectors as a couple of curious onlookers jockeyed for position behind her with Roy and the armorer. One of them was a tall blonde patrolman she recognized from the day before, in front of the Eight Dragon Delight.

"Hi, Officer White! Surprised to see me?" Rally pulled the ear protectors down and stuck out her hand.

"Not really, ma'am." He smiled and nodded at Roy, who shook hands with him as well.

"Roy Coleman. I'm a detective with the Chicago PD."

"Officer Tony White. Pleased to meet you, sir." White looked at Rally. "Where's...uh, Bill?"

"He's on his own today. Roy's better company anyway!"

White raised his brows. "Better connections, yeah. I put a make on that guy and I didn't get any results, but he raised my hackles. You know him, sir? Big and black-haired, drives a custom job—?"

"I've met him," said Roy neutrally.

"Oh. Well, I guess he's all right then, if you're vouching for—"

"I didn't say I was vouching for him, White. I said I'd met him." Roy's expression darkened. White glanced at Rally again in some confusion.

She smiled with a touch of nervousness. "I'm going to try a ten yard range first." Everyone put on ear protectors and she turned to her stall and sent out the target. _BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM_ said the Guardian as she emptied the magazine as fast as she could shoot, the trigger pull stiff but smooth. Back came the target, and she unclipped it. Several pairs of hands seized it at once, and four men stared at her in awe.

"You sure you never fired one of these before?" said the armorer.

"Nope, I never did!" Rally stuck her finger through the one-inch hole in the center of the group, then flicked at the one stray shot. "That's the second one. I'm a little more used to my CZ and I didn't pull hard enough after the first shot. Double-action-only is consistent, but it's different. Spare mag?"

"One." The armorer passed it to her. "The release doesn't pop it out, you'll notice. Get a fingernail under the flange." Rally changed magazines and put the empty one down. "You want to try five yards now?"

"No, let's go for broke. Twenty-five, as far as we can go!" She clipped on a new target and sent it out. This time she shot a little more deliberately, but with one hand. The recoil wasn't extreme and she felt a warm glow to see her shots puncture the paper in a tight bunch. "What a sweet little thing." Rally took off the ear protectors again. "Can I really borrow it for tonight?"

"Ma'am," said the armorer, reeling in the target and spreading it out on the counter for the onlookers to see, "for shooting like that, you can borrow the gun, my car, and the key to my condo."

"Thank you SO much! I'll be sure to have it back to you in the morning. Now I just have to get a holster..."

"Here you go. Custom made for that undercover job. This one's meant to thread on a belt or a garter."

"Perfect!"

"Now, ma'am, this gun is registered to the SFPD. But this is an under the table transaction, of course. I figure it's worth taking a little risk to haul in a big dealer like this Brown guy. I'm going on Detective Coleman's word here..."

"And you can count on it," said Rally. "Oh, Roy! Can I thank you now?"

"Just come back safe," said Roy as she hugged him. "That's all I ask."

* * *

Larry Sam smiled.

"C'mon. I'm walking into a hornet's nest tonight. I could really use some more solid leads."

A Chinese couple walked into the half-full restaurant. "Excuse me." Larry got up from Rally's table to seat the customers, and rapped on the kitchen door as he came back. Mengleng Wu emerged with a teapot and a tray of condiment bottles. The noise level was sufficient to damp their voices from eavesdroppers.

"You're very persuasive, Ms. Vincent. Where's Mr. Bandit today?"

"I took a cab. He's doing his own thing for a while. I'm free until evening." She twirled her chopsticks at him.

"Very persuasive indeed. How's the mu shu pork?"

"Delicious, of course. Your dad's an artist."

"He's had a lot of practice. Been cooking professionally since he was ten."

"I'll have to order that banana fritter. Larry, we already made good use of the tip about the pier. You were absolutely correct about it, and it may make all the difference that we were able to get a place nearby. And that bit about Brown. Every bit of information helps. I'm going to go in there tonight with only one concealable handgun, which eliminates my CZ75—the big one you saw me use. It's going to be me, Bean, and one itty bitty .32 auto, with one spare magazine, against the Eight Dragon Triad. Help me out here."

"I do have more. I'm not sure what good it will do you if you get into a firefight." Larry pulled in his lips and scratched his chin. "I'd hate to think I was encouraging you to go into danger. This guns and fists thing—not my style."

"How about kung fu?"

"Do I look like Bruce Lee?"

"Yeah, a little..." she sighed. He was just as handsome today as he had been on Monday, and she was doing her best to encourage her own mild attraction to him. But he seemed to have changed his mind about giving her better information; perhaps he had realized how sensitive the topic of Brown's impending execution was. Who was his informant?

"Well, I couldn't fight my way out of a take-out container. With the lid open. I know you're better at that kind of thing than I am—I saw you in action. But these people do not fight fair, Rally. You'd be better off walking away from this deal entirely. I know the means they use to dispose of anyone who gets in their way."

"Are you afraid of them?"

"Damn straight I am." His manner lacked nothing in sincerity, but Rally still had the feeling that he held something back, something hidden so deep that it couldn't be as obvious as membership in the Triad. A note of falseness that she had intended to look for simply wasn't there. "I'm not going to apologize for that—I'm a highly visible target. This business of mine isn't easily portable. I can't drop everything and run back East if something goes badly. I'm stuck on the streets of San Francisco." He gestured out at the sunny scene through his sparkling glass windows, the big tank of live carp at the front swirling with activity. "That's why I'm afraid, and that's why I am committed to fighting the gangsters. You don't have that problem, Rally. You want my advice? Get out while you still can."

"I am on this job, Larry. I am not going to drop it until Brown is in FBI custody. And maybe not even then. It's getting personal."

"Personal..." said Larry. He heaved a sigh. "All right. I'll give you more information, even if it's not relevant to Brown. I have a file box of clippings and Internet printouts, and a notebook. Everything's organized by category. There are photos and some charts I worked out—patterns of gang activity, that kind of thing. Pretty dry stuff. But I will loan you the whole pile."

"Larry, you're a prince." It was probably useless, but it was a start.

"I doubt you will get much out of it. Nothing that will help you in the kind of work you do. This isn't going to lessen the risk to you."

"Then give me something that will." They locked gazes for a moment. Rally saw something move across Larry's face, something she couldn't quite read. It might have been suspicion.

"How do I know what you will do with that kind of information?"

"Then you do have it."

"Hey, I'm just a guy with a restaurant. Where would I run across anything truly important on the Eight Dragon Triad?"

Rally's eyes narrowed. "You're thinking aloud, Larry."

"I suppose I am. All right, for the sake of negotiation, let's say I have something that would help you. If I tell you, and the Dragons find out where it came from, I am dead meat. What can you offer me as a defense against that possibility?"

"I'd never tell anyone where it came from. How would they find out?"

"It wouldn't be difficult." A shadow passed over his face. "I think he—they can put two and two together without a lot of counting on their fingers."

"Really? I thought you didn't associate with these people. Why would they ever think of you?"

Larry looked at her with that peculiar expression again, then got up and took a pad from the host desk, crossing to the Chinese couple's table. "Are you ready to order?" he said. "I can recommend the minced squab. We don't get the pigeons from Union Square, you know, unlike the Hong Sing Teahouse."

The couple laughed and ordered something in Cantonese. Larry replied in that language, his voice taking on a singsong quality, scribbled a few Chinese characters on the pad, and stuck the order inside the kitchen door. He held the swinging door open and spoke again in Cantonese, apparently to his father. Rally could hear the sound of a cleaver hitting a chopping block, over and over.

Three business-suited Chinese men came in and sat down; Mengleng took their order. When Larry emerged from the kitchen, he looked carefully at them before he returned to Rally's table. He didn't sit down, standing quietly with his arms folded and his eyes haunted. "I'm sorry, Rally," he began. "It's not that I don't think you'll make good use of it. But I only met you yesterday. I can't place my future, and my family's future, in your hands that quickly. I guess I'm more of a conservative Chinese than I thought I was. You are not from my world. It's not easy for me to trust you."

"You...you mentioned defense against them. Do you mean you want a bodyguard for a while?"

He let out a breath, raising his brows. "Not really. That's too limited. You have a job to do, anyway. You couldn't hang out here all the time."

"Do you want...money?"

His face changed oddly. "That's one of the few all-purpose defenses, I suppose."

"It doesn't stop bullets."

"No...but it can buy them off."

"That's a strange thing to say!"

"Never mind then." He turned to the kitchen and passed through the swinging doors, then emerged with two sizzling platters for the Chinese couple. They exchanged a few pleasantries in Cantonese and Larry headed back towards the doors.

"Larry..." Rally got up from her table and stopped him as he passed. "I...I can offer you some money. If that's what you think will protect you, then I can cut you in on the deal. Information is even more important to me than firepower right now, and I'm willing to pay for it. Though frankly, if you have such good information, I'm wondering why you haven't turned it over to the police."

He twitched one corner of his mouth. "They wouldn't approve of how I got it."

"No? Well, I'm not a cop. A bounty hunter's a private citizen. You'd be amazed at what I can legally do." Rally smiled conspiratorially. "I don't even have to get search warrants! Just waltz in and say, 'You're coming with me, buddy!'"

"That must be handy." Larry drew her back to her table. "All right. For the sake of argument, again—how much money are we talking about here?"

What did she have to play with? One hundred thousand of honest money. And a quarter of a million in tainted cash...all of which had to go to the FBI. "It really depends on how good your information is. I pay my informants accordingly."

"Are they usually running any personal risk in giving it to you?"

"Er...sometimes."

"Do you ever agree on percentages?" They sat down.

A little red warning light flashed in her brain. "Percentages?"

"Of the money you will gain in the operation. For instance...ten percent."

Out of a hundred thousand in reward money? Ten thousand seemed steep, but if he was right about his risk, he might be selling himself cheap. "How about five percent?" Five thousand she could handle—and with an intelligent, good-looking young man, it wasn't even that painful a deal.

"I see you are familiar with the ancient Chinese custom of haggling." Larry smiled.

"I do it Chicago style."

"I like your style. Probably to my regret. Well, there's money, when we agree on the amount. And one other thing."

"What is it?" She smiled, thinking she knew what the answer would be.

"You're not going to like it."

"Huh? Why wouldn't I like going on a date—"

"No, that's not it. Not that I wouldn't like—well, you aren't going to want to go out with me in a minute, anyway. The other condition is your silence. Don't tell the FBI, don't tell your friend Roy, and for God's sake, don't tell Bean."

"What? Why would that matter? There's a hundred thousand on Brown, and your cut—"

He drew a deep sigh, looked in her eyes with a touch of regret, and said, "You and Bean are chasing five hundred thousand dollars in Dragon money. Ten percent for my cooperation would be fifty thousand dollars. That's enough for me to hire protection, or help me relocate if it comes to that."

Rally couldn't have told anyone anything at that moment; she was so flabbergasted her mouth opened and shut as if she were one of the fish in the restaurant tank. Eventually she found a whispering voice an octave or so higher than her usual one. "How...who...how the HELL did you hear that?"

"That leaves you two hundred thousand from your half. Fair enough?"

"Who told you that? WHO?"

"No one told me. I overheard. Or rather..." Larry glanced around, saw that everyone was busily eating and quickly pulled up the tablecloth, putting his hand under the stained particle-board surface beneath the clean white linen. A small tearing sound, and he came up with a little wireless microphone, a self-adhesive Velcro button attached to it. He placed it on the tablecloth near her, cupping his hand half over it. "My sister Vanessa, the one who's at Berkeley? She's an engineering major. She made these for me and chipped them up with transmitters and hearing-aid batteries. The speaker's in the kitchen. I can switch on any table I want." He put the microphone in his shirt pocket.

"What the hell for?"

"Originally, so I could hear what people were really saying about the food." Larry shrugged with a small laugh. "She wanted a project. It started as a joke. Then she came in with all these little components and her soldering iron..."

"You listened in on me and Bean." Rally scanned her eyes back and forth over the dishes, trying to recall what had been said out of Larry Sam's earshot.

"Not for very long. I was at the table with you most of the time, remember? It was Monday lunch. Not very busy. But after Bean called himself a dirty job and you mentioned that the Dragons had tried to recruit him, I stepped out for a few minutes and turned on the speaker. When Bean walked out, I came out again and told you I'd been upstairs. I hadn't been. But what I heard made me decide to give you some more solid information. I made up that story about Mama and the gossip so I could tell you where the pier was. And I will give you more. For a share in that money."

"Why do you want their money? It's drug and crime profits! It ought to go to the government!"

"How about back to the people who do something to stop the crimes? Bean was right about dirty money. It's only money. What matters is what it's used for, not where it came from."

"That's not true. I wouldn't keep one dollar of it for myself!"

Larry laughed disbelievingly. "I heard you say he was only getting half. So who gets the rest, if not you?"

"The FBI. I'd rather they got all of it, but I couldn't get him to agree to that. Actually, he hasn't agreed to getting only half. He wants it all."

"So I gathered. And that's not all he wants, is it?" Larry looked obliquely at her, pinching his upper lip.

"What do you mean?"

"You said he wasn't your boyfriend. You didn't tell me he wants you so badly. I've never heard a man so jealous of a woman he wasn't sleeping with. That scared me."

"That why you offered me your bedroom? I can handle Bean. And I sure as hell can handle you."

"I never said you couldn't. You've got guns. And Bean, if he saw fit, could tear me limb from limb, I have no doubt. I almost pissed myself when I heard what he said to you about me—'that college boy'. Not fair warning, Rally. I asked you about that pretty carefully, you recall, and it seems I had reason to."

"I didn't…I mean, he's always been kind of distant until recently, and right then it didn't seem like anything, um, profound…" She recalled what Brown had said about Bean's attachment to her; taking Brown's assessment of anything at all as even partly true didn't agree with her at the moment.

"Has he tried to assault you? Is that it?"

"No!" Their voices had risen, and the couple across the room looked at them. Larry got up again and spoke to them with a smiling tone. They returned to their meal, and he circulated through the dining room before he came back again.

"I guess it's not my business what your relationship is with Bean," he said quietly. "I wish it were, Rally. But you are not from my world and you are not ever going to be the kind of woman I can introduce to my parents, even if I wanted to risk Bean's wrath, which I don't."

"He doesn't own me!"

"Tell that to him. That doesn't even factor in the racial question, which is still important to them. And to people like the Dragons. Keep that in mind when you deal with them. They don't operate by the rules with which you are familiar, and they have different sets for Chinese and for White Ghosts. For you—I don't know what category they might put you into. Obviously you are Anglo-Indian, or something of the kind. That might help, but only by moving you into the general Asian sphere. A little closer to the Middle Kingdom than Brown."

"The Middle Kingdom?"

"China is the center of the universe, didn't you know that?" He gave her a smile, but Rally could not muster one in return. "I'm going to wish you luck, Rally. And I'm going to give you those files, if you want them."

"For a whopping ten percent of the take?"

"You want to haggle some more? Got to keep up the old Chinese traditions."

"Like bugging the tables?"

Larry set his jaw, looking into the distance. "I'm not saying it's wise to personally involve myself in things like this. It's ironic that I'm warning you about them when I myself…may well have…gone too far." He took a deep breath. "I left those things there because...some day, the right conversation is going to take place, here in my restaurant. Someone is going to haggle over a drug deal, someone is going to plan a murder. I will know them when they come in, because I have photographs and I've memorized the names and a lot of license plates that belong to expensive cars. And I'm going to turn on the tape recorder that is part of the whole system, and I will have something that I can use for a real bargaining chip. Some day."

"That's a very interesting statement, Larry. Gangsters eating in your nice restaurant? When you tell the flunkies to go fuck themselves in perfect Cantonese?"

His gaze flickered. "I do things my way, Rally. It's not yours. Neither of us is really going to understand the other. But we are fighting the same fight. I'll go get that file box."

"Five percent, Larry. Twenty-five thousand, if we get that suitcase."

"Done," he said softly, and went into the kitchen.

* * *

"I'm going to have to go shopping pretty soon...Roy?" Rally put down the sheaf of printouts she was studying at the sitting room table and looked over the back of the hide-a-bed at the detective, who had a pie chart in hand and turned around with a glazed expression. Bean didn't move, as he was absorbed in the TV.

"What's that got to do with me? Go shopping." Roy checked his watch. "Cripes, it's 4:45. Where the hell is May? It took you two less than three hours from Buttonkettle? How'd she spend FIVE?"

"I don't know! But I need someone to drive me to the Galleria. C'mon, guys, this isn't your average dress hunt! I'm going to need help to pick out the right thing to wear tonight. Something cute and casual that I can move in, but able to hide a .32 in an accessible spot..."

"No, please, let me off the hook for that one." Roy shook his head. "Fifteen minutes into any shopping trip with my wife and I'd rather see her in a torn shower curtain than try to give my opinion on anything women wear. I'm fashion-impaired."

"Bean?" said Rally doubtfully. "You up for shopping?"

Bean grunted, his eyes glued to the TV. He and Roy had been sitting on opposite ends of the hide-a-bed since Rally had returned from lunch, as far from each other as possible. While Rally and Roy studied Larry Sam's research and notes, Bean had been watching ESPN with total attention. At this moment, the screen showed NASCAR results and highlights. A few cars spiraled on a track and burst into flames as the rest of the pack zoomed past. Bean chuckled and looked up. "Shopping? For what?"

"Forget I asked." Rally got up to look out the window for the sixth time that half-hour.

Bean cracked another walnut and spat the shells on the floor. Roy didn't look in his direction, but shifted slightly on the couch and crossed his legs. "You still taking his present back?" he asked Rally, obviously to make conversation, and got up, stretching.

"Oh, yeah," said Rally with conviction.

"Why'd you get it out of the safe, then?" He pointed his chin at the red bag on the table.

"Uh…well, I was going to show them to May," said Rally with a guilty smile. Roy laughed and headed to the bathroom.

Bean's head turned. "What present?"

"Brown sent me a little something this morning, to make up for being the biggest asshole in the known universe. What a maroon."

"Yeah? What'd he give you?"

"Jewelry. Don't worry, I'm taking it right back to him! If he objects, I'm going to chew his ear off."

"What for?"

"Geez, use your head! I don't want his presents!"

"Dirty money, huh?"

"Yep."

"So let's take a look at it."

"Why?"

"Just curious. Engagement ring?" He grinned at her.

"Oh, God, Bean!" She tossed the box at him, and he caught it out of the air and snapped the lid up.

His brows went up at the sight of the earrings and he took a sideways glance at her. "Worth a lot, huh? Bet they look good on ya."

"I KNEW I shouldn't have showed them to you..." groaned Rally.

"What's the harm? They're just rocks."

"They're from BROWN!"

"Yeah, but they're yours now."

"No, they are not. I am never going to wear them. I do not take expensive jewelry from drug dealers."

"Whatever." He closed the box and threw it back to her. "Guess you can do what you want with your own property."

Roy came out of the bathroom. "I see you're looking at them again, Rally," he said with a smile.

"All right, dammit. Just to stop everyone from bugging me about it, I am going to put these earrings on _once. _Then they are going straight back in the box and back to Brown." Rally put the box on the dresser, tucked her hair behind her ears and clipped the earrings on. "OK, Roy, take a look. You won't get another chance."

Roy scanned her face for a moment when she turned around, and nodded smilingly. "Yeah, he sure can pick 'em. Thanks. You're a picture."

"Bean?"

He glanced up and shrugged. "Looks expensive." His eyes lingered, but not on the jewelry.

Rally rolled her eyes and turned to the dresser again. The mirror caught the swirl of her hair and a glint of sparkling blue at her earlobes. Involuntarily she moved her head, tilting it to let the sapphires flash. They were the most beautiful earrings she'd ever seen, and they _did_ match her eyes, in a way that brought out the elusive color of her irises and lit up her whole face. "Oh...shit." An odd regret maneuvered its way into her thoughts. "I _have_ to give these back."

"Mmm-hmm." Roy covered a smile.

"I'm going to kill you, Roy. You suggested I put these on, and now I've done it!"

"Don't blame yourself for being a woman."

Bean snorted at Roy's comment and turned back to ESPN, which now showed baseball highlights. A pitcher threw a beanball and the benches cleared.

"What, is that defined by liking sparkly things? You chauvinist oinker! Sounds like a magpie." She took the earrings off and put them in the box.

"People enjoy beauty." Roy laughed and shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Unless it makes them ignore what's underneath, or reject anything that _isn't_ beautiful on the surface!" Rally stalked across the room to look out the window again. "Brown himself is a goddamn case study—"

"Somehow I don't think that's a problem of yours," said Roy. "Relax."

"MAY!" shrieked Rally. "Look! It's my COBRA!" She blew kisses at a blue and white dot eight stories below. "Oh, darn, she missed the green light!"

"God, at last." Roy clapped a hand over his forehead and then leaned over to look at the TV. "Hey, was that the Cubs?"

"Yeah, the bums dropped another one." Bean turned toward the window. "You gotta give that kid some driving lessons, babe. She just get her license or something?"

"Don't be silly! She's just not an assertive driver. But right now, I don't care! My baby Cobra! Yes!" She dashed for the door. Bean got up to follow her, and bumped into Roy as he did the same thing. Roy stumbled and almost fell over the end of the couch, but Bean caught his arm and set him upright again.

"Sorry, Detective."

Rally caught a flash of real hatred in Roy's expression as he looked up at Bean and straightened his tie. "No problem," he said evenly. "Let's go say hello to May."

The two men stood against opposite walls of the elevator, both with arms crossed. Rally jumped up and down between them in impatience. When the elevator reached the lobby, she shot out and over to the garage elevator, the men following, jamming themselves into the door opening as they both tried to exit at once. Again Bean nearly knocked Roy down. Rally heard Roy growling under his breath and brushing off his coat behind her. She rolled her eyes. Bean seemed impeturbable.

"She even legal for a license yet?" he asked Rally in the garage elevator.

"Huh? May? Yeah, just about!" Rally grinned. Bean always seemed to be under the impression that May was much younger than she was. "But I was driving when I was twelve! How about you?"

"Yeah, I got started young. Kind of amazing I ever learned to walk."

"Coulda fooled me," muttered Roy, refolding his lapels.

"Minnie-May!" said Rally as the doors opened. May had just gotten out of the Cobra and was hauling her suitcase out of the front passenger seat. She turned at the greeting and gave a sourish smile. She wore shorts and a tight little T-shirt that prominently displayed her pregnancy.

"Hi, Ral. Hi, Roy. Hi..." She glanced at Rally, who nodded. "Hi, Bean. How's it hanging?"

Rally heard Bean let out a long wheezing breath, and turned to see him staring in disbelief at May. "Uh..." he said, only the second time she'd ever seen him at a loss for words. "Hi...kid." He looked sharply at Rally. She returned his gaze with an innocently confused blink and turned back to May.

"How you feeling? Morning sickness bothering you? How was the drive?" She took May's suitcase and passed it to Roy.

"Hot and buggy. And boring! Until I got to Casa de Fruta, that is!"

"To what?"

"Oh, it was sooo cute! Right on the highway after I turned off into the mountains! I saw signs for it but I didn't realize it was more than a restaurant! They had a train ride and a candy parlor..."

"That place? We filled up there and Bean got some walnuts at the fruit stand and in five minutes we LEFT! You spent all this time at a TOURIST TRAP!"

May crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. "After Buttonkettle, I figured I was entitled!"

"I've been waiting HOURS for you to show up! And you were goofing off at CASA DE FRUITLOOP!"

"Oh, shut up!" wailed May. "I'm tired and I'm hot and I want something to drink! Roooy!" She flung her arms around Roy and buried her face in his shirt front. "Rally's being mean to meee!" Roy patted May's blonde head and made a face at Rally, who moaned in annoyance.

"God, May! Roy, take her to the coffee shop, would you? We'll get the luggage—just leave that suitcase there." Roy escorted May into the elevator and punched the button. As the doors closed, May turned and stuck out her tongue at Rally.

"That kid! Oh, well, she's tired. And that baby's weighing her down." Rally got out her keys and examined the trunk lock before opening it. "Good...looks like no one's tampered with this." She raised the lid and lifted up her rifle bag to check the shotgun. "I had a special lock installed to keep my arsenal secure. Don't want anyone messing with my precious small-arms!"

"How about messing with your small friends?" said Bean with venom.

"What? May?"

"Who the hell knocked HER up?"

"Her boyfriend. Ken Takizawa. You met him." The jack had shifted to the back of the trunk, so Rally leaned far over and retrieved it.

"The bomb builder? That guy's thirty-five if he's a day! Why ain't he in JAIL? What's the damn police department for?"

"Bean—"

"Ol' Coleman wants to arrest me for a few moving violations or some eight-month-old getaway job? How about nabbing a freakin' chicken hawk right under his goddamn nose?"

"Calm down, Bean! May's twenty."

He abruptly lost his indignant stance. "You're jokin'."

"Nope. Appearances are deceiving. You just made an assumption."

"I'll be damned." Bean scratched his head. "She acts like such a kid."

"You still think _I'm_ a kid, Bean?"

He looked at her and his brows came down. "No."

In one sense, she felt triumph, as if she'd proved herself to him. In another, she realized he meant she was now fair game. For anything. He reserved a protected status for anyone he thought was too young to play by the rules. Lacking that, she might expect him to pitch hardball. Certainly he'd done so yesterday, until they'd reconfirmed their pact and set the tone steady again. Today Bean had never broken his even mood until he'd seen May. One moment he could laugh and joke with her, the next he darkened like a fog bank rolling in from the sea to cut off the sun.

Rally turned, flipped the driver's seat forward, and pulled her suitcase out of the back seat. Kneeling to peer under the Cobra, she felt for her big black Magnalite flashlight by the driver's door. "I wish I'd been able to supervise the repairs. Not that I'm such a great mechanic myself. I always concentrated more on gunsmithing."

"Want me to check it out? I'm kinda curious to look this car over anyway."

"Sure." Rally retrieved the flashlight. "You work on your cars yourself, don't you?"

"'Course I do." Bean unclipped the tie-downs, popped the hood and played his penlight over the engine. "I know Mustangs and 'Vettes better than anybody I ever met. Sweet machine you got here." He leaned in over the big V-8 and took the folding multi-tool from his jacket. "Twin four-barrel Holleys, ram scoops, the whole nine yards. Never found one like this for sale or I might have bought it." Bean took a deep sniff of the hot air from the engine as he tested some hose fittings.

"Thanks. I like it too. Comes in handy for chasing Corvettes."

"Except for taking corners at speed, babe." He smiled and gave one of the cast aluminum valve covers a ringing tap. "GT-500s are kinda nose-heavy with this mother under the hood. Reckon you need that power steering."

"Works for me."

"You ain't heated this up any? No add-ons?"

"No, I'm numbers-matching and smog-legal. As legal as these grand old machines get! One of these days they're going to try to take them all away, I'll bet."

Bean creased his brow. "You could get another fifty ponies outta this block, easy. Not livin' up to its potential." He gave the engine another fond tap and straightened.

"You think so?"

"Hey, I own a '69 Mach 1 with the same powerplant. Got that baby haulin' ass just tinkering with the carburation, and then I really got to work on it. Exhaust headers, reamed out the ports, bored it out to the max, and even upgraded the damn air filter. Figure I'm pushing five hundred horses to the ground now."

"You're kidding."

"Nope." He grinned at her over the air cleaner. "No use riding like the devil if you ain't sittin' in the right saddle."

"You did all right with this car that time you, ah, 'borrowed' it to get Gray to New York! Drove it about a thousand miles, didn't you?"

"Not quite that far. Part of the way was in the back of a truck, remember?" Bean replaced the hood and reclipped the tie-downs.

"Sure. I just got reminded you like to stick cars in the backs of trucks!" Rally sat sideways in the driver's seat, her feet out the open door.

Bean laughed and got down on the floor on the opposite side of the Cobra. "If it gets me where I'm goin', I'll hitch a ride in anything." He took the jack and hoisted up the car until the right rear tire was off the ground.

"Except a plane."

"Yeah, well, we all got our hangups." He lay down on his back and scooted under the car. "Man, your undercarriage took a beating."

"Geez, don't burn yourself!" Rallly shivered a little at the memory of Bean's late Corvette. The smell of blistering fiberglass still seemed to cling to her.

"Naw, I can keep my nose off the tailpipes!" He flashed the penlight up and down, then reached out a hand beside her feet and snapped his fingers. "Loan me that big flashlight, babe." Rally clicked it on and dropped it into his palm. "Thanks." She heard Bean's jacket rasp on the concrete and his voice emerge from under her. "Hmm...not too bad a job—it's all scraped to hell, but nothing's drippin' that I can see. It all looks tight as a nun's—ahem—nice and tidy. You're gonna want to get it rust-coated before winter, but I'd figure you can take this thing on home without a problem."

"Home..." Rally dropped her head on her knees. "I came out to California to get away from all the excitement in Chicago. Ha, ha."

"Get away from it? Either it's chasin' you or you're chasin' it!" Bean scooted out from under the Cobra and rolled to his feet, brushing off. "You're the one tailed me in Hollywood, babe." He lowered the jack, took it out and came around the back of the car, handing her the flashlight. On the end of his chin, he had a smear of black oil.

Yes, Bean and excitement were roughly equivalent in her mind. She dealt with a lot of dangerous people in the course of her work; somehow he was the most dangerous one she knew, both for his abilities and for himself. At the most intense moments of her life, he was always there—he seemed as elemental as thunder, and as unstoppable. When lightning struck, he was inevitable. Deep in her gut, the physical awareness crawled and rumbled.

She took the flashlight from him and stowed it in the car again, the grip warm from his hand. "You got...some oil on your face," Rally said, making a vague gesture toward her own. Bean took out a bandanna and scrubbed his nose, then looked at the cloth. "No, not there." He rubbed his cheekbones. "Nope."

He grinned and handed the bandanna to her. Rally took it with a gulp, then looked up at him. Bean raised his brows and tilted his face, and she stood up and wiped his chin clean, her heart thumping. When he took the bandanna again, his expression had a veiled, unusually thoughtful quality. Their eyes met and his fingers bumped hers in deliberate clumsiness. For a moment, Bean's face angled as if he were about to lean down and try to kiss her, though he did not move to do so. Rally felt a quick stab of panic; his eyes lost their sudden warmth and he tucked the bandanna away.

"Let's get that luggage." Bean picked up both suitcases in one arm. "You bringing the guns up?"

"No, I don't want to carry those through the lobby! They'll be fine here in the trunk—more secure than in the room. I don't trust hotel locks, especially when every janitor has a skeleton key!"

"Gotta keep your valuables tight, babe," said Bean, and headed to the elevator.

* * *

"Don't go in THERE, Rally!" yelled May from twenty feet away. "If you're in such a big hurry—"

"I am!"

"You are not going to find a bimbo dress in _Talbots! _Get moving!" May gestured at the spiral escalator that led up the center of the sparkling mall. Even though it was Tuesday evening, the place bustled with well-dressed shoppers.

"Oh, you're a fine one to tell me to move! We could have done this hours ago if you'd gotten here on time!"

"You want my help or not!" May stood with arms akimbo, her purse dangling from one wrist. "God, you'd think YOU were the pregnant one, the mood you're in!" Rally's face burned. That at least wasn't possible, though she had come close! "Who gets the benefit of this outfit, anyway? Not Roy the ol' married man?"

"Of course not! It's for tonight when we—"

"Woh-ho-ho! So it's for Bean after all?" May made a vulgar hip-thrusting motion. "You think that's the kind of woman he likes? Could be right! Can you handle all that hot male meat, virgin mother? Need some instruction?"

"SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE TRAMP!"

"HEY!" yelled May. "THAT'S LITTLE _EX-_TRAMP TO YOU!" People were beginning to stare.

"Oooh!" Rally stalked off towards the escalator and May trotted after her, still talking loudly.

"What's the matter? Did I hit a nerve? You two been going like rabbits two nights in a row? How does he FUCK, huh, Ral? Is he hung like his shoe size or like his thumb?" May cackled wickedly. "C'mon, give!"

"I don't KNOW how he—does it! WE DIDN'T HAVE SEX! And that's the truth!"

"'I did not have sexual relations with that man, Mr. Bandit,'" intoned May, shaking her finger. "Define 'sex'!"

"Not in public, for crying out loud!"

"Oh, you ARE using the presidential definition, huh? You ever kiss him?"

"Why would I want to kiss him!"

"Oh, he does it rough, huh?" May waggled her eyebrows. "Tackles you face down and rams it in doggy-style? Or he likes to screw you up the ass?" A woman next to them covered her little boy's ears and glared at Rally.

Rally's face burned even hotter, but she managed to get her voice under control. "I... did... not... have... sexual... intercourse... with... Bean. Or any other kind of sex." She secretly crossed her fingers, but tried to maintain to herself that manual contact didn't count.

"Mommy, what does 'screw you up the ass' mean?" asked a childish voice behind them.

Rally seized May's arm and hustled her away at the top of the escalator. "Now, if you're quite finished making a public spectacle of my non-sex life, can we do what we came here to do?"

"Get you a dress built for action? Try THAT store!" May pointed at a sign reading 'Bebe'. "This place is a San Francisco legend!"

"No kidding. How do you know that?"

"Guess!" May pushed Rally inside and past a headless mannequin in a sky-blue stretch mini. "Hi! she said to a salesclerk. "Bring us everything you've got in a six!"

Three-quarters of an hour later, Rally stood in front of a three-way mirror and stared at herself. This was certainly the tightest dress she had ever put on, and with the lowest neckline. The ruched hem reached barely three inches below the crotch when she yanked on it, and that maneuver made her breasts nearly pop out of the scooped and contoured decolletage. It was more like a racy swimsuit than a dress, and made of shiny red spandex material that made her look like a medium-priced hooker. "I don't know, May," she said, shivering in the thin-strapped dress. "Isn't this a little...much?"

May slumped on top of a pile of discarded clothing. "This is the only one that has a lot of detail on the hem, and you said you could move in it. If you are going to hide that gun, you can't have something plainer."

"Yes, it does hide the holster pretty well." She hoisted the hem and looked at the garter strapped around her thigh. The dress was so short that the Guardian rode directly on her left hip. "But it's so...obvious."

"Add that little velvet jacket." May rooted through the clothes pile. "That'll cover you up on top."

"I think I'm going to need a jacket, all right...it was starting to look like a chilly night when we came in here." Rally put the jacket on and fastened the single rhinestone button. "There—that's better." It reached only to the bottom of her breasts, but now that her arms and cleavage were concealed, the dress seemed less precarious. "I am never going to be able to wear this anywhere else! How much is this going to be?"

"Two-twenty-five for the dress, two hundred for the jacket."

"Yipe! And I need shoes, too...all I have with me is trainers and flats! This is getting expensive."

"So take it out of the half-million bucks! Who cares about five hundred bucks worth of clothes?"

"I don't get the half-million, May! Just a hundred grand, if Brown comes in one piece."

"Oh, that's a sure thing! And why not that suitcase?"

"It's DRUG MONEY! It's for the FBI!"

"For Smith and Wesson, those nice men who think you're a ditz, but don't care if you get yourself killed? Roy filled me in."

"Not for them personally! Crime profits get confiscated and used AGAINST the criminals!"

"Sure. So they say. C'mon, Ral, you of all people ought to know the system doesn't always work as advertised! If the FBI don't even know about this suitcase yet, don't tip 'em off by giving them half of it. They'll find out about the other half, and both you and Bean will get screwed." May laughed. "Out of the money, that is! And probably straight into jail."

Rally dropped her face into her hands. "I promised him. Maybe I shouldn't have, but at the time it seemed the only thing to do. He hasn't even really accepted that deal, though...he still says he wants the entire half-million."

"Then it's not a binding agreement, is it?"

"It is from my end! I'm not going to split hairs and I'm not going to leave him with nothing. It's...a point of honor by now."

"Why? What's he ever done for you? How do you owe him?"

"It's not a horse trade. It's...about being able to face myself later. I owe MYSELF that."

"Wait a minute. _Do_ you owe him something? I mean, besides the fact that he led you to Brown?" May got up to help Rally peel off the spandex dress. "Why is keeping a promise you made to a criminal, under stress, so damn important?"

"It just is." Rally stood with the dress pooled around her feet, braless and in pantyhose.

"Did you do him a bad turn? Is the money a payoff for that?"

"No! I...we had a misunderstanding." Rally reached for her bra and blouse and hurriedly dressed. "I didn't set out to cause trouble with him, but...well, we're even now anyway. He kept an ace up his sleeve and I threw him a curve ball..."

"What kind of game were you playing?" snickered May. "You need a referee?"

"No. I can handle it."

"Oh, I got it. He snuggled up to you in that motel room and made a move? And you turned him down flat? Something like that?" Rally didn't reply. "Okay. So he's miffed. That doesn't mean you owe him anything."

"Yes, I do. We are partners for this job, and I will not break that promise even if he hasn't accepted it. He kept his word about running drugs, and I am not going to let him outdo me."

"Oookaaay," said May. "You going to buy that dress and jacket?"

"And shoes, and new hose, and a little purse and some black lingerie...God! Why couldn't I have thought of playing the janitor instead of a party girl?"

"I don't think you'd pass for the janitor, sweetheart..."

Rally's cell phone rang. "Hello?" she said, putting on her skirt. "Rally Vincent here."

"Uh...hello," said a voice she recognized as Larry Sam's. "Can you talk?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"I have something for you. No charge. I doubt you've gotten much useful information out of all those notes and clippings."

Rally sighed. "Roy and I spent quite a while on them. Interesting stuff, but lightning didn't strike."

"I thought so. But I just overheard a conversation between two dinner customers."

"Someone you thought was worth monitoring?"

"Exactly. Chinese men, well dressed—they looked like businessmen, but I thought I recognized one of them from a very old mug shot. I turned on the table mike and recorded them. I won't play it back—they were speaking Cantonese—but the gist of it was that they were talking about Brown. They mentioned that he was about to be 'let go' for incompetence and treachery, they bandied some racial slurs on Caucasians, and one of them asked the other if he thought the site was appropriate. The other thought so, but said that backup was in place just in case. Then they talked about getting together the next morning to go over the results. It certainly sounds to me as if Brown is going to be killed some time tonight."

"I think you may be right. Damn, and I'm supposed to go get him tonight—I wonder if they know he's going to make a break for it?"

"I don't think so. They didn't seem concerned about the timing. Rally, is there anything I can say to make you break this off? If you run into a Chinese hit man..."

"Don't worry about me. I wish I could contact Brown discreetly, though—I don't have any way to do that. I have to wait for him to call me."

"Is Bean pushing you to go through with this?"

"I thought Bean was none of your business, Larry."

She heard him let out a choking breath. "He's not. But if something happens to you, I'm going to feel responsible."

"Don't. Your information is going to make me safer, not more vulnerable. That's why I agreed to pay for it."

Larry sighed. "If I get any money out of this, it's going to feel like I fished it out of the kitchen garbage. You may have been right about that. But I'm going to have to take the consequences. I'll just have to hope that money actually functions as a shield in the long run."

"Better than a bulletproof jacket? May it do you good."

"Can I take that as good wishes? I hope you don't hate me for this."

"I don't hate you, Larry. I...I like you, OK? I guess you're right that we are from different worlds. But when I see you again...I'll give you another kiss."

"I'll live in hope," said Larry.

* * *

"Heh heh heh...OK, look in the mirror," ordered May. "You are all gussied up."

Rally turned, her eyes watering from false eyelashes and three applications of mascara. Her scalp burned from hot rollers, hairpins and an itchy wig, and her face felt stiff under what felt like half an inch of foundation and powder. For a moment, her vison was too blurred to make out much in the mirror over the dresser. She blinked away the tears and stared.

"Oh, my God," was all she could say.

"You definitely look the part, sweetheart," chortled May.

"I look like... Holy crap, May, I look like Ru-Paul in pink greasepaint! I won't have to vamp my way past the guards—they will just SCREAM and RUN!"

"Oh, come on, it's not THAT bad!"

"I have never seen this much makeup on anyone short of Tammy Faye Bakker! And what have you done to my nice WIG!" It stood up in a profusion of blonde curls and tendrils, but was so thickly reinforced with chemical goop that it barely moved when she turned her head. "You're really pissed off at me, aren't you?"

"You wanted to look like Bean's girlfriend. You look like Bean's—"

"Yeah, but even Bean has some TASTE! At least—uhm." She broke off. "Hell, I look like I cost fifteen bucks an hour!"

"No, more like a thousand a night." May cocked her head and pursed her lips. "You're just not used to this style of making up. Believe me, you look good...for trailer trash!"

Rally took another look. Big mascaraed eyes, red lips—all right, she saw a pretty woman in the mirror. She looked sexy, frivolous, and not too intelligent. But that was what she had asked for tonight. This was who she had to appear to be in order to do her job. "Uggghhh..." moaned Rally, tearing off the bedsheet that she had used to protect her dress. "Where are those damn shoes?" She slipped her feet into them and tottered over to the mirror again. The strappy dress, the elaborate makeup, the fancy hairdo—she could hardly recognize herself. May had even covered her arms, back and cleavage with light pancake and added a dusting of glitter powder. "This is never going to work. I am going to walk through this entire thing with a wrinkled nose..."

"Uh-uh. Think 'slut'. Think, 'I am an airhead who likes to pick up strangers in bars.' Put a squeak in your voice! Throw those tits forward, baby!" May demonstrated, strutting up and down in sweatshirt and shorts and bare feet. "Wiggle that butt! Yeah, more like that. Get those hips rolling!" Rally tried to follow the leader, but tripped in her shoes. May shook her head in disgust. "God, why'd you buy four-inch heels if you can't walk in 'em?"

Rally picked up her black leather flats and stuffed them into her rhinestoned purse. "I'm going to take them off as soon as I can. Let me practice for a minute!" She slung the purse over her bare shoulder and walked up and down, her gait gradually smoothing. The dress was tight, but so short it didn't impede her stride. It tended to ride up, however, and she caught a glimpse of the little holster she wore on her left thigh. "Oooh! I am going to have to remember to yank this down every so often..."

"Like this!" May grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and wriggled sensually. "Don't just jerk it! Make a production out of it!"

"I have too many things to think about already!" Rally slipped a tactical gun light into her purse. "This is probably not going to pass for a penlight, but what the hell."

"You still sound like yourself, you know. Try talking like you're sucking helium."

"Yuck," said Rally in a normal voice.

"Try again!"

"Ooooh, big guy!" Rally cooed an octave higher. "Where'd you get all those bulgy muscles? Wanna buy me a drink and go screw in my car?"

"Eeek!" May stuck out her tongue. "Now that is REALLY frightening!"

"I'll drop the sarcasm when I actually get there!"

"It's ten-fifteen." May looked at her watch. "Brown's supposed to call?"

"Yes. Then I will call Bean, and he'll bring the car to the corner opposite the hotel and wait for me. Roy's at his hotel with the FBI agents, and I'll take Brown there in my Cobra after splitting the money with Bean."

"You mean, after Bean gives you the finger and takes off with the whole half-million, right?"

"No, he won't!"

"I hope you're sure about that, Ral."

"As sure as I am of anything about him."

"Yeah? You know, you probably should have slept with him."

"What!"

"Joke! But honestly, if it were me, and he'd hit on me under these circumstances, I'd have done it no matter how much of a barbarian he is. The sting wears off in a day, and it'd be worth it to get a little more insurance. This deal—"

"'It won't make a cent's worth of difference to the deal if I do...'" Rally trailed off, staring out the window.

"What?"

"Nothing."

_Breeep._

Rally picked up her phone. "Rally Vincent here."

"Good evening, Rally." Brown sounded far better than he had that morning.

"Hi there." She mouthed _It's Brown!_ to May.

"I'll be expecting you. There are three guards on duty tonight, but otherwise the place will be mostly deserted. I've said I'm working late—just some spreadsheets to finish up. And I've said I've arranged a meeting with…Mr. Bandit."

"Oh, really."

"After giving it some thought, I realized it was obvious." He let out a soft laugh. "It reinforces my claim that I am close to recruiting him. I could wish that you had trusted me with your plans. You should recognize that we are not working on opposite sides."

"Maybe not. But I've got some info for you."

"Yes?"

"I've heard from a source that the hit is tonight. I don't know when it's scheduled. But apparently they have the assassin all lined up to take you out. We may run into the guy, if he doesn't get there before I do!"

"Mmm," said Brown. "I don't think they'd arrange to have it here at their main warehouse. Probably they plan to do it later after I've gone to sleep. And since I won't be returning home, that scarcely matters. But you have armed yourself appropriately, I hope?"

"Yes. Appropriate for what, exactly?"

"For surprises, I suppose." Brown laughed with an odd note of jolly hysteria. "One must always be prepared for surprises, my dear."

"I try to be."

"Be seeing you," said Brown, and hung up.

* * *

Four-inch heels, tottering through the lobby of the Sandpiper Inn. Rally felt the gaze of the desk clerk and of an elderly couple checking in. This place wasn't a high-class hotel, but it wasn't renting rooms by the hour. Her outfit and her cantilevered breasts stuck out by a mile. She pulled the little jacket closer around her, shivering as a gust of wind entered from the opened door. A man passed her on his way in, his head swiveling. In the glass door, Rally could see herself full-length for a moment, a long-legged, curvaceous figure with an upswept hairdo. The face was blurry, but her eyes looked huge and black-rimmed, her lips a smear of dark crimson. She pushed the door open and walked out into the night.

'Godspeed, Rally,' Roy had said when she had called to tell him Brown had made the appointment. Agent Wesson had taken the phone to remind her unnecessarily that Brown's testimony was crucial to the FBI's anti-mob efforts. Agent Smith had simply said, 'Don't fuck it up.'

What was Bean going to say? She caught a heel in the uneven sidewalk and stumbled, but recovered easily. Her curls stirred in the wind, a cold, damp breath from the sea. Mist was falling. This wasn't like Chicago's wind and damp. That was freshwater wind, Lake Michigan wind, though it sometimes blew with Arctic intensity. This wind had a tinge of salt in it. It tasted like the ocean, like the expanse of the Pacific that ran all the way to the shores of China in continuous roll. San Francisco was in the United States, but it touched Asia in a way no Midwestern city could match. Bean waited for her around the next corner, out of sight of the hotel. He had left after taking the luggage up to the room; Rally figured he was taking no chances at this point, as he didn't trust either Roy or the FBI. She waited for the green light to cross the street, though the traffic wasn't heavy. At least Bean trusted her. That she could count on.

Two haggard women loitered on the street by a pay phone, dressed far too skimpily for the weather and peering at passing cars. She turned the corner. Under a lamp halfway up the street stood the Buff, and Rally strode forward. But someone was leaning into the passenger window—a woman wearing hot pants and platform boots. Rally stopped behind a tree to wait.

"Buzz off, babe," she heard Bean say. "I'm busy."

"You look hungry, baby," coaxed the streetwalker. "Want a date?"

"You deaf? I said, I'm busy."

"You don't look busy."

"Looks ain't everything. Move."

"You waitin' for your wife or something?" the streetwalker snarled, straightening up and tossing her bleached-blonde mane in the yellowish light.

"Yeah, something. She's a hell of a better looker than you, too."

The streetwalker spat on the sidewalk and flounced off. Rally rolled her eyes and walked up to Buff. "Hey," she said to Bean in her experimental high-pitched voice and leaned down into the open passenger window. "Let's go."

Bean glanced over at her and flicked a smoked cigarette out on the street. He wore his hair combed back and his jacket zipped to the neck. "Man, the girls are standing in line for me tonight. I must look like I'm coming into money." He laughed shortly. "Go suck somebody else's cock, sister."

Rally stared at him, mouth open.

"Beat it!" Bean started the engine. "Did I pick hooker's row to park in or what?"

"Knock it off, Bean!" shouted Rally. "That's NOT funny!" He jerked violently and snapped his head around to look at her again.

"Fuck..." he whispered.

"Yes, it's me. Remember, I had to go shopping?"

Bean's eyes were wide, their expression almost fearful. "Sorry, Vincent. It's kinda dark."

Rally opened the door and got into the car. "Thanks a lot. I TOLD May she overdid the makeup!"

Bean didn't move for a long moment, scanning her up and down with more blatant attention than he had ever given her, even when she had disrobed in front of him in the motel room. This look had no furtiveness or restraint, and it burned her from head to foot. But his expression didn't seem desirous or even admiring, and he gave his head a slight shake of disbelief when he had finished. "Where the hell you packing your gun?" was all he said.

Rally hoisted her skirt a little to show him the holster. "It's a .32 caliber mini, six shot and combat loaded, and I have one spare mag. Plus a 225-lumen tactical light in my purse since the gun's too small to attach it. That could be useful in a warehouse at night. Strong enough to dazzle dark-adapted eyes."

"You said it, babe," muttered Bean, and pulled away from the curb.


	7. Chapter 7

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Seven**

"So she's off." Roy put down the hotel phone and crossed himself. "Our Father, who art in—"

"What?" barked Smith across the room, speaking into his cell phone. "Aren't they all deployed yet? This has to go simultaneously or we are well and truly fucked. You deal with it, you whining SOB—OK, call me when it's done, and let's make that some time before the crack of the millennium." He clicked off and tossed the phone onto the bed. "Some kinda problem, he says. Don't ask me what they call a rescue operation in La La Land. That bunch've Academy rejects—" Wesson threw a look at him. "What's up your ass, Bob?"

"You feeling a little stressed, Pete?" murmured Wesson, turning magazine pages.

"Damn straight I am. You think I like having to count on Detective Coleman's baby girl? Not to mention a big part of the operation going on half a state away. God, I wish I was out there with an assault rifle and a good squad..." Smith stamped restlessly across Roy's hotel room.

"This isn't Vietnam," said Wesson mildly.

"She can do her job," said Roy. "But I really think you should have told her—"

"She doesn't need to know. It'd only complicate things."

"To know that you're pulling out his family too? Don't you think she deserves to have some idea of the whole operation?" Roy was keeping his temper with difficulty. "If something goes wrong because she didn't have complete information—"

"All she has to do is bring him out and bring him here." Wesson pushed up his glasses. "What she doesn't know won't worry her."

"Yeah," snorted Smith, "we don't want to overtax that pretty head."

"Now just a minute—"

Smith's cell phone rang and he put it to his ear. "Smith. Yeah? What are you talking about?" He listened for a moment, then his ruddy face took on a different tinge. Wesson stood up. "What do you mean they're gone? What about the Dragon cordon?" His teeth gritted. "Great; then 426 knows. Hoo boy. Shit's gonna spray." Smith punched a program button and spoke to someone else. "It's Smith. Just got a call from Rivera in L.A. The wife and kid were gone already."

Roy let out a hissing breath.

"Yeah, they flew the coop without benefit of the Justice Department. ...Well, I don't know, but I can guess. Who the hell else? After all that jaw, Brown didn't trust us to do the job. Apparently the Triad men found out a couple minutes before we did...Oh, no shit." He laughed sardonically. "I just wonder if Brown realizes that 426 is going to have his ass on buttered toast; and I don't mean that in a pleasant way."

* * *

"I oughta just go in on my own, Vincent. There ain't no reason—"

"Oh, sure! He says something to tick you off and the FBI ends up with a few pulpy remnants instead of a witness! Not a chance, Bean! Frankly, I'm beginning to think YOU should stay in the car."

Bean put Buff into park and snapped off the ignition. They sat in a small alley between two waterfront buildings a block south of the Dragon pier. "I ain't a freakin' cab driver. This is my deal. And I don't like you struttin' in there with those damn high heels and one popgun. What if we get split up? You ain't even got a wire!"

"May didn't exactly bring her entire surveillance kit with her to California!" Was he actually concerned about her safety? She wasn't sure whether to be touched or indignant.

"What about the Feds? Didn't they offer you any hardware?"

Rally disentangled her purse from her seat belt. "No."

"Generous of 'em."

"They don't have such a high opinion of me, according to Roy. They aren't sure I can pull this off. But they don't have a choice, since Brown contacted me and not them. And neither do you."

"I ain't worryin' about your technique, babe. I've seen you take out a room full of hoods without breakin' a sweat. I just don't trust that bastard Brown."

"Neither do I. That's why _you're_ on the scene at all!"

"Oh, doin' me a favor? Well, thank ya kindly," said Bean with a touch of sarcasm. "Damn, I want to cream a few more Chink gangbangers." He cracked his knuckles through his driving gloves.

"The word is 'Chinese'." Rally got out of Buff and yanked her dress down, working the holster around and snugly up into her crotch. "And that's not the point. It's to get you your money, remember?"

"My two hundred and fifty thousand bucks? Yeah, I guess I better concentrate on that."

"Yes, your—huh?" Rally stared at Bean. He gave her a one-sided grin and eased himself out of the car.

"I can tell you ain't giving up on that one, babe. It's a fair split. Especially when you waltz into a mob hideout dressed in nothin' but two inches of stretch material and a pound and a half of lipstick." He consulted the big tank watch on his left wrist. "Let's get moving. It's six minutes to eleven."

"Thank you, Bean." Rally put out her hand. He shook it with a controlled smile, then gave her a thumbs-up.

"Knock 'em dead, sweetheart."

* * *

"They're at the gate." O'Toole pointed at a flat-panel video monitor with barely controlled excitement. "Lookit that big bastard pantin' at the wee bitch's heels." Manichetti took a glance, but seemed preoccupied. "We better get inta position." He straightened up and punched a button on the desk; the monitor retracted into the ceiling. "Sir?"

"Yes?" said Brown dreamily, reclined in a leather chair on the other side of the office. He had his good hand over his eyes. Beside him on a glass table sat a razor blade, a short straw, and a few grains of white powder in a vial. "Here on schedule?"

"Yes, sir. Just like ye said—both of 'em. She's all got up in a blonde wig, but it's her, all right."

"How amusing. I suppose that will fool the guards...all the better. We don't want 426 to twig what we're up to." Brown sat up and stretched. "I'll give you as much time as I can, Tom, but do be quick about it once you've left. Yours is the crucial part." He rose and crossed to a safe in the wall, spinning the combination with his left hand. "There, it's open. Be sure to shut the door and let it lock."

"Yes, sir. I got it all mapped out." O'Toole paused and grimaced. "Sir, I gotta say to yeh..."

"What is it, Tom?"

"Why cannae I just shoot the pair've 'em? Take care of it here and now?"

"Tom, Tom..." Brown shook his head, laughing. "We tried that before, remember? Even taken by surprise, neither of them would be an easy mark, and we will never take them by surprise. They will be very much on their guard tonight, and they are working together. Keep in mind as well that we may expect observers, who have a great interest in defending _him_, at least. Sometimes it's far better to wound the enemy than kill him outright; an injury takes up attention that death doesn't warrant. I won't say I'm not tempted to let you have your way, but I've thought this out very carefully. Far better to let the drama unfold, and monitor the results...and of course, if I should have miscalculated, you can always use a more direct approach later. Plans within plans…"

"Yes, sir. I know yeh've got it better figured than anyone."

"How about what she told you?" said Manichetti. "That the hit is tonight? You think 426—"

"I'm supposed to take _her_ word on it?" scoffed Brown. "She's been in town two days—who could she get that from? I've been promised a week, and nothing's happened to cancel the grace period. My family's still in place and so are you two. Smith promised me they wouldn't start until 11:20, so nothing could have tipped off the Dragons yet. Let's trust the FBI to get the job done."

Manichetti looked as if he wasn't reassured, but nodded and moved away. On a glass shelf mounted to the wall sat a large framed photograph of Brown's wife and daughter, the little girl's dark eyes filled with laughter. Manichetti glanced back at Brown, then reached out and picked the photograph up, putting a fingertip to the child's face. His eyes closed briefly and he muttered under his breath, "Holy Trinity and Blessed Mother, protect and preserve..."

Brown picked up a phone on the desk and pressed a button. "Brown. I need the coordinates." He listened for a moment. "Ah, it hasn't moved from the hotel. That means they took his car, as I surmised they would. Very good." He put the phone down. "Still in the parking garage, Tom. You should have no trouble finding it. How providential that 426 volunteered the existence of the transmitter." He laughed, a little hysterically. "He did say he thought the plan might succeed..."

"Wires are all strung, sir. Don't go standin' near the landward wall." O'Toole gestured out the glass wall of the office to the darkened warehouse below.

"No, indeed. Manny?" Manichetti turned around when Brown addressed him. "You'll be leaving with Tom. This entire absence of personal security I am going to explain as a gesture of trust towards Mr. Bandit. Where did you tie her up?"

"Rental slip at South Beach Harbor. Tom says they'll be waiting."

"At the ballpark construction site at China Basin, yes. Then it will take you...fifteen minutes?"

"Yessir, once I get there and get loaded."

"Excellent." Brown checked his watch. "I believe we are as ready as we can be. Greet them at the door, please." He sat down and put his hand over his eyes again.

* * *

"I am in your debt, Huang." 426 took off a pair of headphones. "If it were not for your electronics skills, we could never have intercepted his personal line. It was well shielded."

"Sir!" Huang blushed and bobbed his head. "I was not able to record any intelligible conversations until after our meal. You are too generous. My modest efforts—"

"Have been pivotal in this matter. I will hear no more of this 'modesty'." 426 stood and put his hand on Huang's shoulder, looking into his face with warmth. "I will recommend you for full membership at the next initiation. Speak up for yourself, and everyone will know about your worth."

"Thank you, sir!" The young man beamed. "I don't deserve this honor—uh, I am deeply honored and hope that I may live up to your good opinion of me, sir."

426 smiled with warmth. "You realize how highly I esteem you, do you not? I don't wish you to always speak to me as a numbered Triad." His finger stroked Huang's cheek. "Have you something more personal to say to me, Huang? Yet?"

"Sir...I mean—" The young man blushed more deeply. "I have been wondering..."

"Go on. Speak up for yourself."

"Uh…I asked why you had personally chosen me as your assistant so soon after I arrived, and some of the numbers laughed and told me I was lucky that you had respect for, um, innocence, and when Madame Lum brought the girls to the banquet for the new recruits, you didn't take one, and…and you looked pleased that I hadn't either. I wondered if that meant…"

"Yes, it does." 426 smiled again. "I enjoy your society, Huang. You renew me. It only remains for you to tell me the same."

"But I never realized that you...would want me to say..." Huang looked up, his lips trembling in anticipation. "My esteem for you is beyond measure. You have taken me into your confidence, and I have hardly dared to wish—"

"It is my wish as well." 426 leaned down and kissed Huang on the mouth, caressing his face again. "You are so shy, my sweet boy, that I was not sure if you felt as I do. I am sorry I did not speak earlier. Obviously this is not an opportune time for personal matters. We will have dinner again tomorrow night, and talk about things more pleasant than that son of a whore, Brown." They kissed again, deeply, and when their lips parted, 426's face had been nearly transformed. Younger, softer, the eyes even warm. "I invite you to accompany me to my personal residence after dinner tomorrow. If that is what you would like."

"Of course, sir," said Huang, suffused with happiness.

426 straightened and his manner changed, but the warmth remained in the room. "To business. It is well that I intended to have my men on alert tonight, and that I selected the guard detail for the pier. I could not persuade Red Mountain that Brown's outing with that bounty hunter was grounds for immediate termination, but I have better evidence now, thanks to you. I smelled something rotten the moment he told us he had an appointment with Bandit, and this conversation with the girl only confirms my worst suspicions. Prepared for surprises, indeed."

"Surprises for whom, sir?"

"He will not be returning home, he said, which means I should pull my team from there. Could he actually be planning to escape?"

"If he does, sir, he will leave his family in our hands," said Huang.

"I do not think he will do that," mused 426. "His reaction to the news that they were under guard implied otherwise. Still, it is possible—"

A phone rang, and Huang picked it up, speaking a greeting in Cantonese. He listened for a moment. "Sir, it is the team leader in Los Angeles. He says it is an emergency."

"Eh?" said 426, startled. "Put on the speaker.'

"Honored sir!" squawked an urgent voice. "This is 213. Our cordon has been bypassed. Sarah Brown and her child are gone. I admit my incompetence—"

"How? When?" said 426 through his teeth.

"Some time after six this evening. We have been guarding an empty house for hours! A gardening truck entered the grounds at six—the bags they took away must have been—"

"Find them. Don't rehash your mistakes to me. I want that woman in my custody. Do it!" He turned off the speaker, stiff with icy rage. His transformation was as if it had never been.

"He has had them extracted?" said Huang in astonishment. "But he's still at the pier! We must inform our superiors!"

"No, we will go there now. Call the team at the house and tell them to come to the pier as quickly as they can."

"Yes, sir. But Red Mountain—"

"I don't care." 426 pulled on his gloves with savage intensity. "I will not clear this with the high numbers. They will debate it for another week, and by the time they make up their minds, it will be too late. I take full responsibility. It is easier to gain forgiveness than permission." He looked at his assistant. "Come."

"Sir," said Huang. "I would not have thought it of him, but I suggest that Sam is the likely—"

"At this moment, that is beside the point. Obviously Brown is not telling us the truth about his plans for the pair of them. I doubt that he is telling them the truth about his plans for himself, either." 426's eyes flickered. "His females have slipped from our grasp, for the moment. He has not. We will execute Brown and the bounty hunter at the pier—we will make it look like jealous murder and suicide. But we will have to hurry, because it occurs to me that if he is not truly attempting to recruit Bean Bandit, the most expeditious way to deal with the situation, from his perspective, will be to kill him too."

* * *

The only thing that kept her heart from hammering its way out of her chest was the fact that she had already seen this place and had a good idea of its layout. The pier was about two hundred yards long and twenty yards wide, a straight projection east into the bay with a secondary angled groin pointing northeast. On the main section, a huge old wooden warehouse took up all but narrow walkways that ran about halfway along the sides, from deck-level doors at the midpoint to the courtyard in front. The secondary part was bare decking dotted with sheds and one larger building, and in poor repair, apparently unused. At high tide, the water reached to within ten feet of the lower underpinnings of the pier, lapping audibly at the huge pilings; bundled, barnacled timbers that supported the entire structure over the muddy bottom of the bay. They clustered so densely under the planking that it was difficult to see through to the other side.

"So you're my girlfriend for the week?" Bean took her arm while they crossed the broken pavement to the waterfront. "Where'm I s'posed to've picked you up?"

"In a bar, I guess." Rally shrugged. "I doubt anyone's going to grill you about it."

"Ain't it a little strange, takin' a pickup to a meetin' like this?"

"Yes, but you figure they'll humor you. They want you pretty badly.'

"'Least somebody does..." muttered Bean.

The street entrance to the warehouse sat back behind a pair of flanking buildings, lit with small bulbs over the doors, but otherwise dark. Rally and Bean paused at the front of the southern one, looking to the right into a gated driveway. It passed between the buildings and came up short against a fifteen-foot steel barrier. Beyond the gate and courtyard, the landward wall of the main warehouse loomed up, nothing but a slim thread of light showing around the edge of a shuttered window high up on the facade. An attached ladder ran up to the window, the lowest part slid up and padlocked.

"Bean," she said low.

"Yeah."

"Take this." She hooked a thumb into the garter, eased it off her thigh and lifted her foot to disengage it. "I want you to hold on to this for a minute."

"Your gun?" said Bean in surprise, taking the holster, which looked tiny in his palm.

"Put it in your jacket. Quick."

"Whatever you say, babe." He unzipped an inside pocket and tucked it away.

"I just got a feeling." She looked up at the light coming from the window again. "I told him where it was going to be hidden, and I don't want anyone to find it there, because it will be obvious who I am if they do. They know you've been working with a female bounty hunter. I doubt they'll search _you_ really well. Too insulting."

"Hope I can get it back to ya before ya need it."

"Me too." Rally peered at the gate and tugged on Bean's elbow to pull him forward. "This isn't a place I want to walk around in unarmed." They went down the driveway and reached the gate. In a way, she was looking over the border of another country. The wind came up off the water and stirred through her stiffly lacquered wig, the little jacket almost no use against the chill and fog. She looked up at the sky and saw no stars.

"Can I help you?" said someone out of the dark, and a flashlight beam hit her in the face. Rally glared for a moment, then remembered her role and poked Bean hard in the side.

"Yeah, I'm here to see Brown," he said.

"Who're you?" The flashlight moved to Bean.

"Th' Roadbuster, out've Chicago." He grinned.

The guard came a little closer to inspect them through the bars, and Rally saw with some trepidation that he was one of the men they had fought outside Larry Sam's restaurant—the one with the gold stud in his ear. His right arm hung in a sling and his face was dark with bruises. Would he recognize her, wigged and made-up as she was? "OK, I remember you. Who's the broad, then?" He looked narrowly at her.

"I just got her along for the ride. This ain't gonna take all night." Bean smiled dismissively.

The guard's dirty smirk as he inspected her provoked a wish to slap the smile off his face, but Rally shrugged and tossed her curls. He unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt and put it to his ear. "This is 81. The guy's here, and he brought somebody." A short pause. "Yeah, a woman." He glanced over at her again, then turned his back and spoke lower. "No, but...height…Probably." He laughed. "Yeah, I'll call." He put the walkie-talkie away and took out a cell phone. "This is the gate. Your appointment's here, Mr. Brown." He listened for a few moments. "OK, I'll hold 'em here. Yes, sir; thank you, sir."

"Yeah?" said Bean impatiently.

"Somebody's coming down to check you out." He tucked his free hand into his jacket pocket. For a few minutes, there was silence, broken only by Rally's tapping foot. Problems? Suspicions? Had Brown inadvertently given something away? It didn't matter how well she played her part if he had cracked under strain... She began to shiver, a deep apprehension building in the core of her mind.

"Man, it's cold!" said Rally in her high-pitched falsetto. She clutched Bean's arm and looked around. "What is this dump, baby? We don't have to hang out here too long, do we?"

"Nope," said Bean, amused.

"It's freezing out here by the water! I thought it was July!"

"You gotta be from L.A.," said 81. "This is San Francisco summer." Eventually footsteps approached from the direction of the main pier, and Manichetti emerged limping from the darkness, a business-suited Chinese man two steps behind him. Brown's driver wore a handsome black leather car coat and tailored slacks over his big-boned but doughy frame. His eyes glittered at her as he stood in the edge of the flashlight beam, examining her in silence. Something odd in that look, something as bleak as the black water behind him. Rally's eyes narrowed as she met his gaze. His skin looked grey, the lines between nose and mouth deep and harsh. Brown had said nothing about his henchmen. Were they defecting with him? How long could they last in the Eight Dragon Triad on their own if they weren't? Perhaps he had an auxiliary plan for them, or perhaps he was abandoning them to their fate, with their consent or not.

Manichetti nodded at the guard, who took out a key and unlocked the gate to let her and Bean inside. "This way, Bandit," he said in a strong Brooklyn nasal. "Mr. Brown's waiting." The gate clanged shut and was locked again. The Chinese man with Manichetti smiled faintly. Rally prickled with a deep chill, her eyes darting from one man to the other. She felt like an antelope facing a pride of sleek lions. But she had walked into the Dragon's lair in full knowledge of the possible risks. The lack of any weapon on her person made her feel naked as they moved to follow Manichetti into the darkness.

Her eyes struggled to adapt to the dim surroundings, the pier lit only by small security lights and the general city glow reflected from the cloudy sky. The warehouse had windows up high on the facade, but only one of them was lit. Last night they had all been bright. A lot of bustle and activity, and then nothing. She and Bean had staked out a position across the street for a while and then circulated closer after the last truck had left at about one in the morning. The guards had not spotted them. Rally, being more concealable and lighter on her feet than Bean, had done hand-over-hand on the fence along the pier and made it around the back of the smaller buildings to scout the layout. More lights had been on last night, and that along with the waning gibbous moon had let her spot all the important outside landmarks. Now, the place seemed almost abandoned. Manichetti used an electronic key card to open the small door beside the big louvered truck entrance, and shut it behind her once she had stepped through. The solid click of locks echoed through the huge, dim, empty interior.

Up high, halfway along the length of the pier and centrally placed, was a row of large glassed-in offices, one brightly lit. Supported with huge steel beams, their construction seemed independent of the wooden warehouse, much newer. They sat forty feet above the floor, the warehouse roof twenty feet above them. A concrete-tiled walkway ran in front of the window walls. Steel catwalks crisscrossed the width of the warehouse at regular intervals, linking lengthwise walkways that ran beneath the offices. Manichetti paused and held up a hand to indicate that they should stop. The Chinese man moved in another direction and went into a smaller office on the ground level, one without windows. After a moment, a Chinese woman in a skirted business suit emerged with the man at her heels. Both of them walked straight up to Rally, and the woman looked her over carefully from all sides, circling her with a sharp glance. She looked about forty, stocky and solid, with long hair pulled back into a knot. When she stood in front of Rally again, she stared her in the face for an interminable minute.

"Take jacket off," she said in a strong accent. Rally complied, baring her shoulders and the deep decolletage of the red dress. The Chinese man made a low whistle, and the woman shot a glance at him. He fell silent. Manichetti did not react, but Bean shifted his stance.

"Please, only routine," said the Chinese man, bowing slightly to Bean. He touched Bean's arm and ran his hands quickly along his sides, then stepped back and bowed again. "You have weapon?" Bean produced his bowie knife. The man examined it and gave it back. Bean raised his brows and tucked it away.

The woman took the jacket and examined its seams, then handed it to the man. "Give purse," she said and held out her hand for it. She took out Rally's flats, which she felt and bent backwards and forwards; a lipstick, which she opened and swiveled up; the earring box, which she shook and tapped and opened, making an appreciative, raised-brows sound at the contents; a crumpled tissue, a hotel key and the tactical light. Handing the rest to the man, she held up the tactical light and clicked it on, aiming it at the ceiling. Its intense beam shot all the way to the curved hangar-like roof, unimpeded by rafters. The woman turned it off, thrust it into the purse, and stepped forward. She hooked two fingers in Rally's cleavage and pulled the dress out, looking down her body. Rally gasped, but the woman grabbed her breasts and felt them, then ran her hands down Rally's torso and between her legs.

"Hey!" Rally squeaked, trying to remember that she was a light-skirted airhead and not a professional bounty hunter. She wondered; why had Brown detailed someone who could search her so thoroughly, since he already knew she was going to be armed? The woman frowned and said something in Cantonese to the Chinese man, who shrugged and replied in a few sentences. She continued to frisk Rally and yanked her skirt up, revealing the black lace thong she had on underneath. The Chinese man cleared his throat.

"Bean-sie!" wailed Rally, pushing her skirt down again. "What is this shit? You didn't tell me I was gonna get strip-searched!" Bean looked disturbed; she couldn't tell if he was angry or trying to suppress a laugh.

The woman chuckled unpleasantly. "Shoes off," she said, and ran her hands inside and over the heels when Rally gave them to her. Looking for wires, apparently. It was just as well that May hadn't had her kit with her—Rally's cover would have been blown even more thoroughly than by a gun if she had brought any kind of mic or radio equipment. The woman handed the shoes back, snapped her fingers at the Chinese man, and started back towards her office, getting out a cell phone and seeming to report in to someone. The man gave Rally back her jacket and purse and followed the woman. Rally hurriedly put her shoes back on, hopping on one foot since she didn't care to bend over. The jacket and purse she left clutched in her hand, since Manichetti pointed his chin at a staircase that rose to the catwalks and led the way. Bean took her arm again and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze.

Manichetti's shoes sounded heavy and metallic on the steps as they followed him, his big hands hanging at his sides, slack and inert. In Hollywood, he hadn't seemed energetic or courageous, but now he looked worse: utterly despondent. They reached the lateral catwalk and went along it to a secondary staircase that climbed about ten steps to the offices and their separate walkway. At the lighted office door, he paused on the landing and knocked. Rally saw a figure cross the light inside through the full-length frosted glass. The lever handle turned and a shorter, slighter man opened the door. Red-headed, the color faded to dull rust like old blood. He had a sharp, weathered face with broken veins in the nose and unnervingly light green eyes, almost yellow. This had to be O'Toole. In contrast to Manichetti's tailoring, he wore a black turtleneck and a dark green nylon jacket with multiple pockets. His trousers were the same material, tucked into boots of lace-up military style. But he was not visibly armed.

"Rally Vincent," he said in a deep growling voice, the Irish lilt faintly discernible. "More or less on time. And 'er pet puppydog, eh?" He and Bean slitted their eyes at each other, but Bean said nothing. O'Toole looked her up and down with an ugly expression, his eyes on a level with her upper chest—he might be about five foot six, considering that she stood nearly six-two in four-inch heels. Rally felt the growing heat of resentment, her teeth clenching, and she put her hands on her hips and stared him down. O'Toole slid a look over to Manichetti, then back to her. "Got a firearm on yeh, girlie?"

"He has it," said Rally, and held out her hand to Bean. With a glance, he fished the little Guardian out of his jacket.

O'Toole snagged it out of the holster as Rally reached for it and gave it a heft. "Know how ta use this, girlie?" He popped the magazine, pushed it back in, sighted along the tiny barrel and spun the gun on his forefinger, then tossed it carelessly to her. She caught it out of the air, spun it forward and in reverse, snapped it into her grip and aimed between his yellow eyes. Her finger was clear of the trigger, but the bodyguard's arched eyebrows went up. "Fancy. Just the thing for fightin' off the boys that get too eager. Well, jam it back between yer titties and let's get this show on the road." Rally slid her skirt up a few inches, strapped the garter on and put the Guardian away. O'Toole's eyes darted down to her hemline and he showed a few nicotine-stained teeth in an ironic smile.

"Mr. Brown's in 'is office," he said, and pointed to a half-open interior door a few steps down the corridor. His hands were corded and muscular, devoid of rings, but scarred with small white patches and rifle calluses. Manichetti let out a long breath through his nose and turned to the exterior door. O'Toole clapped him on the back with a reassuring air. "Cheer up, Manny. She can do 'er job." He held up his bandaged left wrist. Both of them looked at her again, Manichetti still bleak, O'Toole with dark humor. "Time we faded into the woodwork," he said, and started to move out the door.

"Just a minute!" hissed Rally. "I told Brown to leave you two out of it! What the hell is going on?"

O'Toole smirked. "We're leavin', right? Ask himself if ye've got a complaint."

He gave her a lascivious wink and clanged down the metal stairs with Manichetti. What now? What if she gave in to her gut feeling and walked out of here? She would have to pass Brown's two men, the office by the door, and the guard outside. Even if they let her go, she would then have to face Bean and the FBI without either Brown or his half-million. Rally took a deep breath and walked down the hallway to the open door, Bean following. Peering around the corner, she saw a large expanse of thick floor-to-ceiling glass wall, a row of stylish track lights on the ceiling, and a plush off-white Berber carpet.

"Brown?" She moved forward a step.

"Please come in," said Brown, sitting with his back to her in a swivel chair that faced a small computer desk. "Just a moment—I'm sending some email." He clicked his mouse with his left hand, swung around and got up. "Hello, Rally—Ms. Vincent." His face went a little pale as he looked at Bean. "I'm very pleased to see you again, Mr. Bandit."

"Yeah?" said Bean ironically. "Can't say the same to you."

"Ah..." Brown turned back to Rally. "Do sit down, please. What an interesting outfit. Not your usual look."

"No, but this time I picked it out all by myself."

"Touché. May I take your things?" He laid her jacket and purse on a small leather sofa. "How did the guards treat you?"

"I was so thoroughly searched I feel like a crime scene. Why did you assign that prison matron to guard duty?"

"Prison matron?" Brown looked out through the glass.

"A woman, with a real professional technique."

"Ah. Hair in a bun, square chin?"

"Yes, and she wasn't shy at all." Rally adjusted her strapless bra through her dress. "Isn't she yours?"

"No, she's not. I don't assign the guards. But she's never been on guard duty here before...she oversees the vice businesses on the West Coast. Her name is Lum."

"Great, so I've been checked out by a big-time madam. OK, basically, that means someone knew I was coming, or made a good guess. And the gate guard was someone who's seen us before—he's got one arm in a sling, so they sure didn't choose him for his physical prowess. What's going on here, Brown? It's starting to seem like they know what we're up to."

"I really don't think so." He was moving towards a bar cabinet. "May I offer you anything?"

"No, thanks." Rally shut the office door.

"Mr. Bandit?"

"Nah," said Bean, looking around at the office and its furnishings.

"I'll have a whisky, if you don't mind." He poured two fingers of Laphroaig into a crystal glass and toasted her with his left hand. "To success."

"Yeah, fine," said Rally. "Shall we go?"

"Oh, not so fast." He smiled and downed the liquor. "You came here for more than just me. Let's get the suitcase and satisfy you as to its contents first." He glanced at Bean, who smiled humorlessly.

"Oh. Yes."

"You must be feeling very tense, Ms. Vincent. I sympathize." He chuckled. "I've been sitting here for two hours thinking about Chinese assassination techniques."

"Oh."

"Seeing that you've made it safely inside does make me feel better. So far, so good, huh?"

"I suppose so. What are your men doing here? I told you to keep them clear."

"I apologize if they startled you." Brown looked a little sheepish, which became him rather well. "O'Toole's not the most polished of men—I heard the conversation in the hall, of course. But I've sent them away now. They won't be an impediment."

"Oh, speaking of bad manners..." Rally dug in her purse. "Here." She produced the earring box and tossed it on his desk. Brown looked confused for a moment, then offended. "No complaints from you. You know why I don't want them!"

It looked as if he didn't know, but Brown picked up the box, opened it for a moment, and put it in his pants pocket with a sigh. "Very well. I defer to your sense of propriety."

"Good." Seeing him suitably chastened and those dratted earrings off her hands lifted her mood. Despite herself, she began to relax a little. Everything was under control. This office was not menacing in the least—it was in elegant, rather European good taste, filled with sleek, comfortable-looking furniture and sophisticated artwork. Only its obvious expense reminded her this man was a gangster. That silk jacket couldn't hide a holster, and he had none that she could see, nor any armored vest. O'Toole had left. Bean was with her, for once keeping his mouth shut, and Brown wouldn't dare do a thing. He wasn't stupid, but for some reason he had chosen a criminal life. And Bean had chosen one too. Was there one single thing else they had in common? Bean next to Brown looked like a battle tank next to a Ferrari. The thought gave her an inadvertent giggle. Brown smiled at her with a whimsical question in his expression.

"Oh, nothing," she said. "What about your wife and your daughter? You never told me if you were sending them away, and now that you're going to defect—"

"No need to worry," said Brown. "They're being..." His expression veiled slightly. "They will be safe soon. I was just sending a message to my wife's laptop to...confirm that you had arrived."

"We're not out of here yet."

"No. But there isn't really any reason to rush." He glanced out the huge glass window wall, though nothing was visible through it because of the office's bright illumination. "The observers will assume that I'm...getting acquainted with Mr. Bandit and his lovely companion." Rally cast a quick look at Bean, but he only flicked his gaze past Brown as if he didn't exist.

Brown's smile held nothing but humor, though his eyes were opaque. "Please have a seat. I'll get that suitcase." He indicated the small leather sofa and armchair between the door and the window wall. A gracefully sculpted cast-glass table, like a piece of frozen waterfall, stood in the center of the group. Rally sat on the sofa, keeping her knees together and giving her dress a discreet yank. Bean stayed by the door. She took the opportunity to survey the room; Brown had occupied most of her attention until now. From entry door to opposite wall, it was about forty feet long. Thirty feet deep, the width of the cantilevered bridge that held all the offices. The back wall was conventionally finished in sheetrock, as were the widthwise walls for about half their extent. The remaining parts of the walls were made of white sandblasted glass, etched in irregular patterns like ice or flowing water and meeting the window wall. In the corner opposite the entry door sat a satiny rosewood desk and executive chair, backed only by glass. Brown moved to the back wall and rolled a large abstract painting aside, revealing a wall safe. He spun the combination and opened it. Inside was a dark rectangle with rounded corners—a big suitcase of black-anodized aluminum. Battered and scuffed, it looked out of place in Brown's hand. He put it on the floor, closed the safe and moved the painting back into place. Rally noted that even though he was doing everything left-handed, he hadn't yet seemed notably awkward, only slow. He'd had very little time to get used to the injury, which must be painful still. She could only chalk it up to natural grace.

"How's your hand?" she asked, to her own surprise.

Brown glanced up as he picked up the suitcase again. "It's not my greatest concern at the moment."

"Worried about the Dragons?"

"Oddly, no. I think I've read them correctly. As I told you, I'm not so bad at that, most of the time." He came over to where she sat and put the suitcase on the glass table. "When I've been wrong, I've acknowledged my mistakes and asked for forgiveness. Or I've paid for it. Care to count the cash?" He sat opposite her in the leather armchair and put one ankle on the opposite knee, his slim Italian shoes so new they had no scuff marks on the soles.

"That would take a long time."

"But you certainly want to see that this isn't full of cut newspaper." Brown crinkled his turquoise eyes at her, ignoring Bean, who approached and stood behind the sofa Rally sat on. "Please do open it. Or I can do the honors if you prefer." He leaned forward.

"No, that's OK." Rally laid the suitcase flat on the table and pressed the catches inward. The lid sprang up to reveal close-packed wads of hundreds. Each had a paper band around the middle. There would have to be five thousand bills in this case to make up the total. She picked one wad up and flipped the ends. Fifty hundreds, five thousand dollars in a wad. Some were old-style, some had the newer design, and their condition and crispness varied. Eight wads across, three down, packed four deep, plus four more along the bottom. It was all there. So much cash all at once hardly registered as real money. Her emotions kept insisting that this was only a case full of funny green paper with portraits of Ben Franklin. Rally lifted a sheaf of wads, hefted it and put it back, smelling the inky fragrance, feeling the silken, tough texture. Half a million dollars...enough to solve every cash flow problem she would have well into the next millennium. Rally shut down the thought, and closed the case. "Looks good. Bean?" She glanced up to see his reaction.

"Beautiful," he replied, a smile in his voice. Rally returned the smile.

"You appreciate beauty, do you?" Brown chuckled. Bean narrowed his eyes. "Alas, that's not for me to know."

"Brown..." said Rally in a warning tone.

"Yes, of course." Brown put up his hands. "I beg your pardon."

"You're forgiven. But I'd advise you to keep quiet, because we still have a way to go before this is over." Rally started to stand up. "All right, it looks like we're set. Bean, you carry the suitcase, and I'll—"

A loud rap sounded on the door. Everyone in the office started, and Brown put a hand on the suitcase. "Yes?" he called.

"Mr. Brown," replied a youthful voice. "Red Mountain 531 and Red Gourd 492 are here to meet your guest. Red Pole 426 has also just arrived."

"Good God," breathed Brown. Aloud he said, "One moment."

"Why are they here?" Rally whispered fiercely, springing from her seat. Bean gritted his teeth.

"I...I don't know." Brown clenched his one good fist. "But I can't delay. I have to let them in." He crossed to the door and opened it, simultaneously bowing low. In walked two elderly, respectable-looking men, attired in conservative suits. Behind them came another Chinese man, middle-aged and similarly dressed, and two young men in their twenties, one carrying a couple of bottles of expensive California wine.

Of the five, the one that caught Rally's attention was the middle-aged one. The older ones were smiling benignly; the younger ones kept their gazes cast down. The other looked directly at her and at Bean, the expression of his eyes holding something far colder, more remote and even more dangerous than anything she had ever seen on Bean's face. His appearance wasn't distinctive in any way; his cropped hair had a sprinkling of grey and his brows were wide and heavy. But she let her eyes linger on him a little longer than she should have, trying to make sense of him. He seemed to look straight through her disguise, but he also seemed not to care a great deal. It was as if he had known exactly who she was long before he had come here and had dismissed her out of hand. Rally broke the look and stepped back, closer to Bean.

"Brown," said one of the elderly men in a gentle tone. "Will you not introduce us?" His British-tinged accent had the precise ricochet quality of a native Chinese speaker, but his face was not entirely Asian; his eyes looked European in shape and in color—a lighter brown.

"Uh..." Brown licked his lips and put on a smile. "What a pleasant surprise, sir. I had not expected this honor."

"This must he be, yes?" said the other elderly man, eagerly smiling at Bean and speaking in a heavy Chinese accent. "Goodness, he extensive individual!"

"Mr. Bandit," said Brown, finally regaining some poise, "these are the two most senior members of the Eight Dragon Triad in this country. Bean Bandit; Red Mountain 531 and Red Gourd 492." The man with the not-quite-Asian face bowed his head at the name of Red Mountain. Red Gourd stepped forward and extended his hand to Bean. No one paid any attention to Rally, which suited her very well.

Bean looked uneasy, but shook hands with both men. "Hey there. Call me Bean."

"A-and," stuttered Brown, "this is Red Pole 426." The middle-aged man inclined his head and stayed where he was.

"We are honored to meet you, my good man," said Red Mountain. "The tales of your exploits have amazed us for some time. It is our great hope that you will consider our offers in a favorable light. How do they strike you?"

"I ain't heard none yet," said Bean.

"Ah...I see we are premature," said Red Mountain. He looked at Brown. "We do not mean to interrupt your conference, but there is no hurry. Please, allow us to take over the interview for a little while, and gain an acquaintance with this most fascinating person." He snapped his fingers at the young men, who had not yet been introduced. "Huang. Assist Wo with the wine." The young men bowed and left the room.

"No...hurry?" said Brown. "What do you—"

"The hours will pass at the same rate in any case," said 426. "A week—or five days—a great many hours will pass in that time." The lights went on in the next office, towards the center of the warehouse; they shone through the section of sandblasted glass that looked like ice. Rally saw Brown shiver. Was this the man who would have killed him when the week was up? She felt sure that he was.

"Please, Mr. Bandit," said Red Mountain, "come with us. There is a suitable room next door, my former office, which is being prepared. Will you take some refreshment? Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, I ate," said Bean. "Look, Red, I didn't think I was gonna get the third degree tonight, and I ain't in the mood for it. Can I get a rain check?" He didn't look at Rally, but he did glance at the table where the suitcase lay.

"You have another affair tonight?" said Red Gourd, crinkling up and nodding. "Such man must apprehend his women!" The old men chuckled and looked at her cleavage. "She is very comely, yes? And makes energetic in the act of intimate congress?"

"Uh…yeah, hotter'n a pistol," said Bean. He slipped an arm around Rally's waist. "So I ain't hangin' out here all night, see?" Towing her along, he made a move for the table. "You coming, Brown?"

"How friendly you have become with the man who cheated you and tried to kill you," remarked 426. "All differences forgotten?"

"Working on it," said Bean. 426 had casually stepped into his path, so he halted. "Pleased to meetcha, but I gotta go." Rally felt him squeeze her side; his muscles had gone taut as wire. Bean and 426 stared into each other's eyes. Of all the people in this room, probably 426 had the best idea of what might happen in a few moments. She placed her right hand close to her thigh, where the little Guardian snuggled heavily. Thirteen shots; that was what she had to work with, and she had no doubt that all the new arrivals were armed.

"We will not keep you long," said Red Mountain. "There will be no third degree. I will toast your health, and we will drink to your good fortune, and perhaps ours." Huang came back into the room. "All is ready. Mr. Brown will be glad to keep your woman company, I believe. One drink, yes?"

Bean hesitated, his eyes flicking from one man to another. Rally put her hand on his back and moved it slightly up and down. It was all right, she tried to convey. If these old gangsters just couldn't let him go without acting like a couple of starstruck groupies, so be it. All it would cause was a delay. She thought about Roy waiting in his hotel room with a couple of impatient FBI agents. Well, it couldn't be helped. Bean's tension eased slightly, and he patted her rump. "OK, I'll drink with ya. Keep it warm for me, baby, 'cause I'll be right back." He let her go and preceded the old men out the door.

426 remained for a moment, looking at Brown. "You have indeed been honored by this visit, Brown. I had not anticipated it either."

"No?"

"I did not accompany them here. When I arrived, their limousine had just pulled up in front of the pier. Their driver is waiting; they will not stay long." He made an expression that on another face might have been a smile, and went out the door. Huang followed, shutting it behind him. Rally let out a long breath and flopped down on the sofa.

"Oh, _fuck," _said Brown softly, sitting in his desk chair. "God damn it all to hell..."

"You can say that again," said Rally.

"It seems you were correct about the hit. Thank God, Red Mountain and Red Gourd got here first."

"Before Red Pole 426? Now that is one scary guy."

"Yes," said Brown. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you all I know about him. He is the Dragon chief assassin, and he would like nothing better than to carry out my sentence. He burned a man to death once. With a blowtorch."

"Eww!" said Rally, clenching her teeth and pulling her lips back in disgust. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy! That's about the most horrible way I can imagine for someone to die!"

"I would have to concur with that," said Brown with conviction.

"We can't leave until the bigwigs do, can we?"

"Absolutely not. A dreadful insult." He checked his watch. "But 426 can't do anything until they leave, either, so it balances out. For the next ten minutes or so."

"They just wanted to _meet_ him? What's that all about?"

"I told you they were very insistent that I hire him." Brown wiped his damp face with his pocket square. "I didn't realize they were such big fans." He let out a shaky laugh, then got up and fumbled with the bar cabinet. "I need another whiskey—I just went stone cold sober."

In point of fact, she felt distinctly limp. "As long as you're pouring, give me one too. Put some water in it." Brown made her drink and passed it to her, then poured himself a stiff slug. They tossed the liquor back and put the glasses down. The stuff burned a warm streak all through her. She breathed out a little cloud of Laphroaig and put her feet up. "That's better. Now we just wait for them to get through drinking, huh? Maybe they'll escort us out to Bean's car!"

Brown looked at his watch. "It could be a little while, I'm afraid."

"Not if Bean has anything to say about it."

"True," said Brown, smiling. "I believe they're rather in awe of him."

"That _was _pretty funny," said Rally, beginning to snicker. "I wonder if they'll ask for his autograph?" Brown laughed out loud, and she joined him.

"I can't imagine he's encountered this before," mused Brown after a moment. "He must be feeling rather self-conscious. Not a man who wants to be the center of attention in a social gathering."

Rally only snorted. He wasn't going to draw her into personal conversation this time, if she could possibly help it.

"The woman I interviewed—I believe I mentioned her?—said he never wanted to go anywhere with her. No eating out, no going dancing, not even a movie once in a while. His interest in her lay in only one direction—well, she put it more baldly than that, but I'm sure you get the picture. The relationship lasted about six months. I gathered that she enjoyed his sheer physicality at first, but that she also felt the need to have a meaningful conversation once in a while. He likes to order in and watch videotapes." Brown reclined back in his chair. "I can't say that would be to my taste, but to each his own."

There he was, talking about Bean's sex life again. "Really? I guess that sounds pretty dull to a big-time Hollywood pusher who likes to blow his drug profits out on the town with young, expensive mistresses. How does your wife feel about that, Brown?"

"Ah...now, Rally, I'm not that bad. Truly."

"Pull the other one, Sly. I can't believe that's your real name. It fits you too damn well."

"I'll admit I _was_ a playboy before I married. If I told you the names of some of the women I dated, you'd put me down as an insufferable egotist."

Now that she thought about it, she was almost positive she had seen a picture of him with Madonna in 'People' magazine a few years back. "I already have, so no problem there."

"Ouch." He looked plaintively at her. "Do you have that much contempt for me, Rally?"

"Well, let me see... Yes, I do. But I told you—I don't care. I don't have to put up with you past tonight. Talk all you want; I'll just let my mind wander."

Brown heaved a sigh. "I deserve that. Neither you nor Bean will stand for cocktail chatter. I shouldn't have tried to impress you, or give you things you had no desire for. Obviously it was futile, and I apologize. "

"Hmm...you know, there is one thing I want from you. I might think a little better of you if I get it. How about it?"

"What is it? If it's within my power—"

"Your file on Bean. You said you had clippings and documents. I want them."

Brown raised his brows and blew out his cheeks. "I'm so sorry; I don't have it with me. You would like to give it to him?"

"Yes, I would. I think he deserves it. Frankly, it's more his than yours."

"You may have a point there. Unfortunately, it's not here, and I can't get hold of it now. If I'd known a little earlier..."

"Who's got it? The Dragons?"

"Ah...yes. It's in another office across town...426's office, in point of fact." Brown shrugged. "I'm afraid I won't be able to retrieve it."

"Damn." She sat back on the sofa. "There's only one copy?"

"Yes, there's only one. But, Rally, I have studied it very thoroughly, and much of the information I have is stored only in my head. I know the answers to all the questions that can be answered. Would you like me to tell you more of what I know about Bean?"

"Yes, I would. One thing, though..."

"Yes?"

"Keep it to the straight and narrow, Brown. I don't want your prurient speculations about his personal life, or his sex life, or about how bad a boyfriend he might have made once upon a time. I want to know the facts, and that's all. So leave your dirty mind out of it."

Brown flushed a little and tightened his lips. "Very well."

"Begin at the beginning. Who adopted him?"

"A married couple of working-class origins. They are both dead now, but they were residents of eastern Michigan. The wife died first, of lung cancer, and the husband two months later in a botched armed robbery—they had been bankrupted by medical bills. Their adopted son went to relatives of the husband in southern Illinois. Four months later, he turned up in a parking lot, as I told you. Half starved, and showing signs of constant beatings. His custodial family never claimed him—one or two of its members might have been arrested if they had. He went into the county foster care system but eventually was transferred into homes in Chicago where space was available. He was an indifferent and rebellious student, except in shop class and athletics, and was always large for his age...his medical records show his growth rate throughout childhood as far above the 90th percentile, and that was with an incorrect age estimate. Recall that he is two years younger than he believes."

"I told him."

"Naturally, you would have. You do seem very fond of him."

"Brown..."

"Sorry." He looked out through the window wall. "It's just that I...well, I am in awe of the relationship you have with him. He seemed so impenetrable, and you have him eating out of the palm of your hand. And the poor man hasn't earned even a kiss from those cruel lips? I will count myself lucky—"

"Will you _shut up?_ You must watch a lot of bad movies."

"Please, tell me he hasn't been entirely deprived. Surely he's—"

"I'm about to pistol-whip you into silence, Brown!" Rally was so angry she lost her head for a moment. "Yeah, he kisses a hell of a lot better than you do, you child molester! Satisfied?"

"Good heavens, Rally. Please try to keep your temper." Brown didn't try very hard to suppress his smile.

"It'd be a lot easier if you kept your promises! Get back on the subject! I want to know who his parents were. What did you mean by racially mixed, and does this have something to do with why the Dragons want him so much? You said that you could tell him how to defend himself against them. Why do you think he needs something for defense other than himself? What's in that pretty head of yours, Brown?"

Brown's desk phone rang. He picked it up immediately and put it to his ear. "Brown." Listening, he left his eyes on her. "It's a supplier of mine," he said, putting his hand over the receiver. "Excuse me." He turned his chair to look out through the window wall. "No, the deal will go through. Yes, very important, but high numbers are not our only concern. We may have to sacrifice some longer-term goals for immediate profits...How many?...That ought to do, though I admit it's a struggle to forecast demand. Has the delivery been made? If it doesn't end up being paid for as expected, you will have to reclaim it. Please execute the larger order as soon it arrives, if at all possible—yes, I know that is a change of plan. The other one we should handle in-house. I will expect a report soon." He put down the receiver and spun the chair back to face her. "I'm still considered a decision-maker, you see. That courtesy won't be extended too much longer."

Rally turned her head, her senses prickling. What was that sound outside? Something was making noise at the landward end of the warehouse, as far as she could tell. It had approached for a while and stopped nearby, engine going. It might be a truck pulling up, though it almost seemed to come from below. But the office's soundproofing was too thick to let her make out the details.

"There's some loading going on," said Brown with his eyes on her face. "A local shipment."

"What of? This place looks completely cleaned out."

"That's correct. The Dragons are abandoning it soon. I'm the only executive who hasn't been transferred to the new offices yet." Brown rose and strolled over to the bar cabinet again. "Mind if I smoke?" He opened a humidor and took out a cigarette.

"Because you were targeted for termination?"

"Apparently so." He picked up a sleek gold desk lighter and took a few draws on the cigarette between his lips, smoke puffing into a small cloud around his head.

"Let's get going, Brown. I don't like hanging around in here." Rally rose and grabbed her jacket and purse. "I'm sorry to insult the bigwigs, but we have got to move. Bean can take care of himself. We can get to the hotel in ten minutes, even walking."

"Not so fast." He shook his head with a smile. "I...would prefer to wait until the truck leaves."

She took a hard look at him. "All right. But if they're not gone in five minutes, I'm leaving anyway. And you are going to come with me."

"But...what about the money?" Brown gestured at the suitcase on the glass table. "We can't leave it here, and walking through this district at night isn't safe. Mr. Bandit might become perturbed if we took it and left without him, in any case. Perhaps he'd be afraid that you and I alone in a hotel room…" By now his smile was thoroughly nasty.

Rally let out a furious breath and seized the handle. "He'll figure it out. I don't want to stay here one moment longer, no matter what's going on outside. If you don't get a move on, your Mr. 426 is going to get his wish. And then you can just merrily burn in hell, Sylvester Brown." She lifted the suitcase—it wasn't light—and turned to the door.

"No, I don't think so," said Brown. "I'd far rather it was you."

"If that's a joke—"

"About as funny as this one." He turned to the glass wall and clenched his fist.

And the whole heavy expanse of glass leapt out of its frame, bursting inward in a spray of diamond fragments like a crystal waterfall. Slow, graceful, it seemed to her suddenly combat-alert senses. The rifle report stretched out into a roll like thunder, and crashed again, and again.The suitcase went spinning—only the handle remained in her grasp. Shot off! Rally dived for the rosewood desk. Grabbing her purse by the strap, she drew the Guardian and rolled between the heavy drawer pillars.

Brown stood stock-still, smiling at her while the glass pattered around him. _BKAM BKAM BKAM_ went the rifle. The slugs plowed into the carpet right in front of her. And then it stopped.

Shouts next door, dimly heard through the wall. "RALLY!" bellowed Bean. "What the fuck—"

She heard several excited voices speaking Cantonese and then heavy footsteps pounded along the corridor. The door opened and one of Bean's boots came in sight from her vantage point. _BKAM BKAM BKAM BKAM. _She heard lead hit bone and flesh, and gasped.

Bean let out a sharp grunt, and the door opened all the way, someone leaning heavily against it. The man slid down the door and fell, one arm flinging out. It was Huang, crying in pain. Bean seemed to stumble in the corridor; then his footfalls ran towards the outside door and clanged down the steps.

"RALLY!" he yelled again, loud and clear through the shattered window. "I'LL GET THAT FUCKING MICK—YOU TAKE CARE OF BROWN!"

Huang groaned and kicked his legs in agony. The Cantonese voices went on, then moved in the other direction along the offices. Apparently there was an exit at the south end too. What was 426 going to do once he got the old men to safety?

Rally centered her sights on Brown's heart and squeezed the trigger. He turned to face her full on, his hands in his pockets and the cigarette between his lips. The Guardian's stiff trigger began to move—and then she snapped the shot up over his head and into the ceiling. _BAM._

He wasn't armed. She couldn't possibly kill a crippled, unarmed, unresisting man. She took a deep breath and prepared to make a dash for the door.

Brown made a gesture. _BKAM_. Another slug buried itself in the floor and she flung herself back under the desk with such force that she hit the chair behind it. It rolled three feet backwards and went over the edge, unimpeded by the few shards of glass remaining embedded in the sill. A moment later she heard it crash on the concrete forty feet below.

"He's very good, you know," said Brown conversationally. "O'Toole, I mean. He's made head shots at nine hundred and fifty yards with a crosswind off the Irish Sea. He hits what he means to hit."

She put the sights back on Brown. "What's your game? Just to kill me and Bean?"

"I'd assume they'll accomplish the latter posthaste, now that he's heading outside. A pity to waste all that ferocious animal energy, but he was just too dangerous."

"No!" Rally scoffed, disbelieving but with rising apprehension. "You'll never kill him—he's got his jacket—"

Brown cocked his head as if listening. Outside and far away, someone was shouting. "Surveillance camera." He walked to the desk to click a switch, avoiding the area within Rally's reach.

A panel slid back on the ceiling and a screen descended, oriented towards the desk. A sharp black-and-white picture flickered in, soundless. Rally peered at it, her pulse throbbing in her throat.

The screen showed the open area behind the gate and in front of the warehouse, with a slice of dark water visible beside the pier. Many figures struggling—about six, but the confusion of scrambling bodies made it difficult to count them. Two men lay sprawled, unconscious or dead. One broke free from the pack and staggered to his feet, a tall man with a shock of black hair and a broad streak of blood down his face. Bean went down again under three attackers.

"Sixty seconds." Brown consulted his watch. "There are eight well-trained mercenary thugs on him, as you see—some friends of Mr. O'Toole's—and therefore the fight shouldn't last too much longer." Brown blew a wreath of smoke from his cigarette, the tendrils drifting across the screen. The fight continued behind the silhouette of his head, the pile of men heaving and struggling with their quarry. "Touching, really."

A knife flashed a slice of light into the camera. Bean's arm slashed downwards and a man spun away with a silent spray of black blood from his throat. Another aimed a silenced weapon and fired, and as Bean warded off the slugs with upraised arms, a third man swung a weighty-looking sap at the back of his head.

Outside, Rally heard muffled zips and a heavy thud. Bean jerked and his shoulders hunched up. He tried to swing a fist and collapsed. The remaining men converged on him, picked him up by both arms and both legs, carried him to the railing, heaved his long limp body over and dumped him into the water with a tremendous splash. He sank instantly and did not come up.

"Just like a movie, isn't it?" said Brown. "I really should have become a director."

She felt a lump rise in her throat, an awful catch in her breathing. "Oh, God."

"Yes, Rally, he's unconscious and sinking to the bottom of the bay in that weighty flak jacket. He's dead, or will be in a few minutes. The only obvious cause of death will be drowning, to which even he is scarcely immune." Brown grinned merrily. "And your friend May Hopkins, five months pregnant with her first child, is currently asleep in her room at the Park Hilton, one floor up from Detective Roy Coleman, who flew out from Chicago to meet you. He is waiting in his own room for you to return there with me. There are two FBI agents waiting with him. Eventually they will give up and leave when we don't show. Coleman will probably consult with May, as she is expert in the use of tactical explosives, and they will leave the hotel in search of you. Probably they will come straight here. When they do, they will end up at the bottom of the bay with Bean. And you."

"You bastard! You _bastard!"_ She lunged forward, then stopped.

"Feeling betrayed, Rally? Perhaps by love of money?" Brown laughed and glanced at the suitcase, lying handle-less on the carpet. "For a share in this, and for the reward on me? Or have you done all this for love of that man? Maybe you should've screwed him after all, huh?" His accent changed, his face took on the cheap snarl she remembered from Hollywood. "He's gonna be an ice-cold fuck tonight, you little whore."

Her sights trembled on him. He wasn't more than fifteen feet away from her. She'd used only the bullet in the chamber. Six rounds in this magazine, six more in the spare. She could punch a neat circle through his black heart, she could fill his braincase with lead and put out both those icy turquoise eyes, which were probably colored contacts, the vain bastard. It would be so easy.

But he wasn't armed and he hadn't made a single move for a weapon. With his crippled hand, he couldn't have used a gun anyway. But he was commanding O'Toole's rifle, which was placed high up and about a hundred yards away. The Irish sharpshooter couldn't be closer than the landward facade, since the trajectory of the bullets had been too high for him to be on one of the catwalks. Of course that range hardly mattered with a good sniper rifle. He could take her out in an instant now that the window was gone, if she showed herself. Wasn't that the same as if Brown himself held the gun on her? Wasn't it?

Couldn't she at least drop him writhing beside Huang with a nice painful slug through the guts? He woudn't die if she picked her target carefully; he was well-conditioned and healthy, and O'Toole would be distracted by the need to help him. He'd come down from the high window and run to the office. Manichetti was probably waiting to help them escape and would abandon his post too, so wounding Brown might be the best way to get out of here unmolested, if she moved fast.

Her finger tightened on the trigger again, but something held her back. She had a gun loaned to her by the SFPD because Roy had vouched for her. If she shot Brown now, handicapped as he was and clean of weapon in this cleaned-out warehouse...

That was what all that activity the night before had been about. The place had been scoured. Why? What could that mean? She glanced back over her shoulder as she crouched under the desk, out at the blasted window wall and the concrete walkway in front of it, six feet out and four feet down.

"Waiting for something, Rally?" Brown chuckled. "Inspiration? Cavalry over the hill? Or was the white knight supposed to be Bean?"

The only exit from this place was through the interior door and the hallway out to the north catwalk. The other way had 426 at the end. She would have to cross thirty feet of carpet to reach the door, and she'd have to climb over the wounded Huang's body. O'Toole could riddle her with bullets in that time. And even if she made it, she would be exposed on the catwalk, on the stairs and all the way across the bare concrete floor. If he were placed in a window high up on the facade, he could swing around and fire at her even after she left the building. The odds were astronomically stacked against her.

She looked out the shattered window wall into the darkness beyond. Forty feet above concrete, cantilevered out into the middle of this huge, echoing, empty warehouse.

Hell, she'd taken a better fall than that only two days before. Rally holstered her pistol, kicked off her heels and executed a fast backward shoulder roll. Over the edge, and into thin air.

* * *

"They killed him," cried 81. "They killed the Roadbuster!" He dashed across the street and hung on to 426's coat as the limousine door slammed. The driver took off, leaving 426 and 81 crouching behind a black Mercedes in front of the pier. Wo got behind the wheel of the Mercedes, keeping low, and started the engine. "Honored uncle, I couldn't stop them. They came up over the side—there must be a boat—"

426 looked over the hood at the gate and brandished a black Sig P221 in his left hand. A masked figure appeared, peered around the corner of one of the smaller flanking buildings, then dodged back into cover. "Bandit did not escape?"

"They sapped him and dumped him in the water. He didn't float. Uncle, what are we going to do?"

"Get into the car." 426 half stood to open the rear passenger door of the Mercedes. 81 crawled inside and huddled in the foot well. "Red Mountain will be very displeased. So am I." He put his free hand into his coat.

81 flinched. "Sir?" He looked at the sling on his right arm. "I couldn't do jack. There were eight of them. I beat it so I could tell you what—" He trailed off into a soft sigh, his eyes glazing. A spot of blood on his collar spread and suffused his shirt front. 426 moved back and let him fall sideways on the seat, the blood pooling under the body. He wiped his stiletto on 81's shirt, replaced it in his coat.

"Take us to the rendezvous point," he said to Wo. "My team will be there in five minutes; we will return with them and sort out this mess. Perhaps Huang is still alive and we may get him to a doctor." He had to kick 81's feet aside to close the door before he got into the front passenger seat.

"Won't the police have arrived by then?" Wo pulled out into the street and sped away.

"No. The shots will not have not been heard outside. However, we will have to fight our way through the men at the gate." 426 reached into the back seat and retrieved a case. He popped the latches and eased out a sleek black MP5K. "I am afraid that will make quite a bit of noise."

* * *

"Fock, man, she DISAPPEARED!" O'Toole howled down to Brown, his voice crackling through a speaker in the office. Broken glass tinkled down from the shattered window; she heard Brown's shoes crunch in the fragments. "Didn't hit the floor, didn't land on the walkway! Where's the wee bitch GONE!"

"I don't know. I only saw her go over the edge. Get down here and get underneath the offices! Could she be hanging on to the support beams?"

There wasn't any other place she could have gone, of course. Rally found another handhold and inched closer to the walkway. When O'Toole left his post, she would leap to it and make her break.

She could not think about Bean. Not dead, not bleeding his life away into the cold black water. Her own life was the only one she could save right now. That empty cavity in her chest might turn into a pierced heart if she let herself feel it too much.

Her arms and hands were already starting to ache. She clung for life to the I-beam, the hard edges of the steel cutting into her palms. Her muscles tensed, biceps bulging as she fought to keep her elbows flexed and her body snug up against the underside of the structure. She had her feet drawn up under her, knees to chest, to avoid exposing herself to O'Toole from his high perch. Now that he was coming down, she would have to pull herself up even closer to the structure to keep him from spotting her as soon as he got to floor level. And she had to turn around and face the walkway—her backwards roll had left her facing towards the bayward end of the warehouse.

Rally went hand over hand towards the center of the office bridge, aiming for a strut that connected the offices to the walkway. Once there, she pivoted to scan the inside of the facade.

O'Toole descended from his high window, his feet in their military boots hitting the wall of the warehouse with echoing thumps as he rappelled down with a rope and harness.

Rally wrapped a leg around the walkway strut and touched the little Guardian in her garter holster. He was much too far away for her to have a prayer of hitting him without a rifle. Nearly a hundred yards to the landward facade. Her bullets wouldn't even fly that distance without falling to the floor. All the marksmanship in the world didn't matter if the cartridge itself wasn't up to the task. And it was nearly certain that he would be wearing armor: a bullet-resistant vest or even a helmet. Brown had talked and jousted with her long enough for O'Toole to equip and ready himself in every conceivable way.

He landed on the floor, cast off the harness, and ran straight down the middle of the floor. Of course he knew exactly how far her reach extended. He'd seen and handled her only weapon. As long as he stayed thirty yards away from her, O'Toole had nothing to fear, and even at ten yards, she had less than an even chance of effectively hitting her mark in the dimness. This wasn't a shooting range. Paper targets didn't fire back, and they didn't move or dodge. Rally waited until he had jogged eighty yards, then took a deep breath and swung herself forward to the concrete walkway and up over its railing.

Her landing vibrated the whole length of the walkway with a deep thrumming note. Instantly O'Toole stopped in his tracks and unslung the rifle he carried on his back. He aimed it straight in her direction. But the concrete tiles blocked his view of her and would deflect any possible shot. Unless of course he was firing armor-piercing rounds... She crouched low and scrambled for the south wall of the warehouse.

"Where you going, girlie? Come out an' play!"

She wasn't even tempted to reply. The little bodyguard ran along the floor parallel with the walkway and twenty yards away.

"Pretty girlie, titty an' thigh..." chanted O'Toole in time with his strides. "Kissed big Bean and made 'im cry..."

Rally gritted her teeth, noting that he'd listened in on her conversation with Brown.

"When the men came out to play," mocked O'Toole, "Little girlie ran away!"

Where was Manichetti? Of course, he wasn't a fighter. It wouldn't make much sense for him to be part of the assassination squad. But where was he? Rally descended the short stair to the steel catwalk, reached the south wall and hugged it. She slid her shoulders along the planks towards the landward facade until she came to a large square timber support post that forced her to move out from the wall.

"Now, now," said O'Toole somewhere below her. "Wrong direction." BKAM!

_WHIZZ-THUNK!_ A rifle round sank into the wood next to her ear. Rally gasped and crouched down, scrambling back towards the staircase to the offices.

Bullets crashed through the pierced steel plates under her feet. She reached the concrete walkway and lay flat on it, panting. Through the shattered window of Brown's office, she caught a glimpse of him peering out at her with a tense snarl, but he ducked inside again and the lights went out.

The two offices at this end of the bridge were dark as well, with windows intact. She heard O'Toole's running feet on the stairs at the north side of the warehouse, and in a moment he emerged on the catwalk that led to the office stairs and the walkway on which she lay.

He was too damn fast—he moved like an ape. Rally rolled to the side and off the walkway. She clung to the railing and dropped to a handhold on the support I-beams just as she had done under Brown's office.

How long could this go on? She could keep under cover for a while, but not forever, and Brown might simply call in a few more riflemen who could hem her in from all sides. While O'Toole was the only one she had to deal with, she had to make her move. Rally swung her legs up to hook her feet into the underpinnings of the walkway, drew her pistol and held tight with the left hand.

O'Toole's strides on the walkway made it bounce up and down as he approached her—and passed her. He slid down the south staircase, looped a leg around the railing and leaned out with his rifle, which was black-stocked with a distinctive target grip.

With a chill of horrified admiration she instantly recognized the make. A Heckler and Koch PSG-1, one of the best sharpshooter's weapons ever made, and the only semi-auto with the lethal accuracy of a single-loader. The magazine on O'Toole's was unusually large, at least thirty rounds capacity; obviously custom made. She couldn't have been more outgunned if he had been packing Sidewinder missiles.

He hadn't spotted her position yet. Rally took a careful sight on his trigger finger just as he snapped his head around in sudden recognition and swung the rifle. _BAM._

The shot hit the rifle stock and knocked the weapon awry. O'Toole wobbled on his perch. But he did not drop the rifle since the sling held it in position. For a moment she looked him full in the face from ten yards away. This time he wore no mask. He had an avid smile like a hunting animal, his yellow eyes hot and aroused over the scope. Rally yanked her trigger.

_BAMBAMBAM. _Fibers flew from O'Toole's chest and shoulder, and he jerked off a shot from the rifle that whizzed past her head. He was heavily armored, her hits hammering his body but not penetrating his bullet-resistant clothing. She aimed for his head.

_BAMBAM. _He threw himself back over the railing and landed upright on the base of the stairs, and her bullets drove themselves into the wooden wall behind him. Her first magazine was empty!

"Ooh, that stings," said O'Toole with a laughing gasp, and let off a rapid burst of fire in her direction, forcing her to cling tightly and swing her legs up out of the way. "Haah!" He let off another burst, concrete fragments flying from the edge of the walkway into her face. Rally jammed the Guardian into its holster and fumbled for her purse.

O'Toole leaned over the railing again, smiling. "Out of stingers, girlie?" He drew a bead on her forehead, then moved the muzzle down over her body as if running a hand down her torso. "Why don't yeh pull yerself up to the walk before I spoil that pretty face with a big ugly .308? Slowly, now."

Rally froze, hand in her purse.

"Drop that bag first, girlie." O'Toole nodded at her purse. Rally brought her hand out and brushed the strap off her shoulder. The purse fell forty feet and the contents scattered over the warehouse floor. "Good. Now throw yer gun up on the walk where I can see it." Rally moved her hand down to her hemline and scooted the dress up to reveal the holster and magazine pouch. O'Toole's eyes flicked down.

She shone the brilliant beam of the tactical light she had concealed in her palm straight into his face, and he flinched away with an involuntary "Ugh!"

With a frantic heave, she pulled herself up to the walkway and tumbled over the railing. In midair she yanked out the Guardian and changing magazines. Catching the light in her teeth, she fired directly at him.

Two trigger pulls, one to chamber the round and one to fire. Her shot was perfectly placed to the middle of the face. But in the split second interval between pulls O'Toole jerked to the side and the bullet tore his right ear instead.

A flap of flesh swung loose along his jaw. He yelled, the blood spurting through his fingers. "Yeh bitch!"

Rally ran along the walkway and up the horizontal bars of the railing like a ladder, then launched off of it for the roof of the offices.

_BKAM BKAM BKAM BKAM_ said the rifle. Shots went wild and shattered the rest of the glass window walls. Rally landed on the roof and rolled. The shots whizzed above her head, and she flattened.

O'Toole's footsteps ran along the walkway again and she heard a door open. Brown's voice, agitated, and a furious snarl from O'Toole. Then they fell quiet for a moment. Rally stuck the tactical light into her cleavage and crept along the flat steel roof until she was directly above Brown's office. She could hear them talking urgently, but too low for her to make out the words.

She had five shots left in the little Guardian. Five shots stood between her and a fate like Bean's. In spite of the danger of the moment, she choked at the thought of his murdered corpse sinking in the black muck somewhere beneath her. All that ferocious animal energy wasted, Brown had said. The sharpness of the emotion cut at her heart and lungs.

Bean was dead. She would never hear his smoky voice again, never see his hands spin a steering wheel with casual precision, never feel her heart jump as he grinned at her. To her horror, her vision blurred with tears and her throat tightened. Her breath came in hurtful gasps, muffled by the hand she clapped over her mouth.

What had she felt for Bean while he was alive? What was her loss now that she knew he could never threaten her equilibrium again? The route ahead seemed dull and empty now that the Roadbuster had taken his final exit... Rally swallowed hard and wiped her wet cheeks with her hand.

"...just do it meself, sir, dammit and that'll have to do." She caught O'Toole's voice as it raised slightly, cracking with emotion.

"I couldn't ask that of you, Tom!" Brown sounded emotional as well.

"Ye don't even have to ask, sir. Ye know I'd knock on the gate of the Maze tomorrow and ask if they've rooms to let, if that would preserve one hair on yer dear head. I'll do it somehow, me darlin' lad…" O'Toole might have been crying.

"Oh, Tom." Brown let out a long sigh. "As long as it looks right. That's all that matters now."

"I'll take care of that, sir."

"Good man."

Had they forgotten her? Rally moved towards the edge of the roof, wondering what they were talking about. If she reached over the edge and fired into the office, she might be able to take out O'Toole before he realized where the shots were coming from. She had to crawl over a raised beam and her body scraped softly over the steel.

O'Toole hissed something and Brown let out a quick breath. The light in the office clicked on again, throwing a pool of illumination out onto the floor below. Her dark-adapted eyes stung for a moment.

_WHAM!_ A hand seized the edge of the roof and O'Toole vaulted up and landed hard directly in front of her. Rally leaped back and somersaulted. _KRAK KRAK KRAK_ went a .45 caliber automatic in O'Toole's hand. The bullets dented the steel and left craters blasted free of paint in a trail behind her.

She dived over the edge of the roof and landed on the strut that tied the offices to the walkway, preparing to roll under it.

"Freeze, yeh little bitch!"

Rally looked up into the muzzle of the .45. O'Toole knelt on the edge of the roof and aimed right between her breasts.

"One twitch, and I drop yeh to the floor." He wasn't smiling now, and his eyes looked as poisonous as sulfur. With his free hand, he unslung the rifle from his back. "I swear, I may just shoot ye anyway." The upper half of his right ear was gone and his neck and throat were covered in blood. "Come on out, sir!" he called to Brown. "I got her under wraps."

To the south, at the wall of the warehouse, a door slammed open and booted feet thundered on the concrete.

"RAALLLYYY!" It was a tremendous bellow. "GODDAMMIT, WHERE ARE YOU!"

Bean was alive! O'Toole jerked to look to his left, and she quickly rolled under the strut.

"RAALLLYYY!" Bean shouted again, his voice filling the entire warehouse. "BROWN, YOU FUCKIN' SLIME! YOU'VE KILLED HER, YOU'RE FUCKIN' DEAD!"

O'Toole looked for her and made an angry gesture when he realized she was under cover again. He slid from his perch and dropped to the walkway like a leopard, slinging his rifle to his back in mid-drop. With a running leap, he cleared the gap to the shattered window and scrambled into the cover of the office.

Down on the floor, Bean cast a shadow fifty feet behind him as he ran forward into the pool of light. He was streaming wet, leaving a trail of black muck and water, and his face dark with blood and mud. Bullet scars covered the arms of his jacket. Rally jumped for the railing and pulled herself up to the walkway. She ran in the opposite direction from O'Toole. Bean was a sitting duck for that rifle. She was going to have to risk a shout!

"Bean! Get the HELL out of here!"

He stopped dead and looked up for the source of her voice.

_BKAM!_ A bullet whacked right behind her flying feet. Rally leaped for the broken window of the next office and cut her hands on the glass still in the frame. She hissed in pain, but hauled herself into the dark room and rolled upright. The light next door shone through the sandblasted glass wall. She smelled spilled wine.

"CALL OFF YOUR DOG, BROWN!" shouted Bean. "YOU GOT THE WHOLE CHINK ARMY COMIN' ATCHA! QUIT WHILE YER AHEAD!"

"_426!"_ she heard Brown hiss. "Time to blow the—"

BRAAAP! An enormous din of full-auto machine gun fire erupted outside.

"Holy Christ!" yelled O'Toole. "Get down the stairs, _now!"_

"But Bandit's down there—"

"I'll get him! Hurry!"

Someone stepped closer to the glass wall, right at the edge of the floor. His shadow sharpened with proximity, though it was still difficult to read. At the level of his shoulder rose something long and slim. It must be O'Toole with his rifle! Her cut hands stung like hell, but she fumbled out her gun. The figure drew a bead on Bean, seeming to track him along the floor as he ran for the north stairs, and the shoulders rose with a deep breath.

_BAMBAMBAMBAM_ said the Guardian as Rally fired through the glass, nearly losing it on the recoil because her hands were so slippery with blood. Her aim stank and the heavy glass would deflect the first couple of bullets off their track—she'd be lucky to hit anything.

She heard a scream and the light went out. A barrage of .308s came through the wall as she dived to the side. Someone cried out in a banshee howl. "Oh, name of Jesus! Holy mother Mary!"

"I'm not dead yet," came Brown's voice, ragged with pain. "Help me!" She'd shot Brown, not O'Toole! "Do it now! There's no more time!"

"Cover yer ears!" said O'Toole. Over the crackling racket of machine guns she seemed to hear a tiny _klick._

WHABOOOOM!

The shock wave of the explosion threw her flat. Her head cracked against a table leg. For a moment, she saw bright colors and lights, and when she could focus, something bright still lit up the room. A powerful smell of C4 and electrical insulation, starting to mix with burning wood. The pier was on fire.

Her ears were numb from the blast, weird thrumming noises echoing in her head. A dull sound next door—possibly a gunshot. Vibrations shook the floor under her—it was stumbling feet in the corridor. Rally rolled over to the office door in time to see O'Toole supporting Brown as they half ran, half crawled towards the south stairs.

It was dark, but she thought she saw blood soaking the thigh of Brown's pants. He sobbed in pain and O'Toole let out an anguished moan. "I'll get ye out of here! Just a bit farther!"

The sounds seemed to come from a great distance, dull and dim. Smoke boiled through the broken window and the men vanished down the stairs into the roiling clouds. Rally staggered to her feet and headed the other way, to Brown's office. This wasn't any time to pursue them; she had only one shot left and her head hurt. She coughed from the smoke and followed the trail of blood on the white carpet.

Huang lay face up in the middle of the room, dead. Someone had shot him through the temples, probably with a small caliber bullet. O'Toole's handgun was a .45. She stared at him, wondering.

Through the window of Brown's office, she saw that the top of the landward facade was half gone. A few prone figures were scattered on the floor inside. Bean wasn't visible.

"Bean! I'm up here!" she shouted, hardly able to hear her own voice. She looked frantically around the office. The suitcase still lay on the floor. "Come get the money, Bean! We've got to get out before the place burns down!"

Near the north stairs, she saw a movement through the smoke. Bean staggered to his feet; he had apparently been blown off the stairs by the concussion. "What's up next?" he yelled dimly. "A frickin' airstrike?"

Rally laughed in relief, so happy to see him alive she felt ready to kiss him.

"Come up! It's here!" He pounded up the stairs, and she put her head out over the window frame, scanning for foes. Two or three of the prone figures got up; it was hard to tell who they were because of the smoke. She couldn't see Brown and O'Toole, but apparently the men at the front could—they raised weapons and fired down the length of the warehouse. The sound gradually grew clearer as her ears recovered. Rally got up and went out to the landing as Bean arrived at the top of the stairs.

Now she could see all the way up and down the warehouse, a hundred yards in each direction, though the smoke had filled most of the area, hugging the floor. At the bayward end of the building, nearly invisible, were two men, one staggering on a wounded leg. O'Toole lowered Brown to the floor and swung up his rifle. BKAMBKAMBKAM! One of the men firing at him dropped, and the others retreated through the front door.

"What's Brown doing down there?" She pointed them out to Bean. "How are they going to get out?"

"Who cares? It's still in the office?" The right side of Bean's face was entirely red from a bullet crease across his skull and his hair was matted with blood and mud. He stank of bay muck, his jacket and boots squeaking and dripping with wet. He was indescribably beautiful—alive—and she gave him a wide smile.

"Yeah. The handle's off the suitcase, so it'll be hard to carry. But I think you want it anyway!" Rally turned again to look at Brown and O'Toole. "How'd you get out of the water?"

"We can rehash later, girl. Right now I want what I came for!" He brushed past her through the outside door and darted into Brown's office. The roof of the warehouse had caught now and flames spread along the walls toward them.

"Hurry! This place is going to really go up in a few minutes!"

"Where the hell is it? There's too damn much smoke in here, and the light won't go on."

Rally left the landing with another glance down to the end of the warehouse and followed Bean into the office. "It's on the floor—there, in front of the desk." Bean barked his shin on the glass table and swore. She fished out the tactical light and turned it on, playing it over the floor. Huang's dead face looked very young, very surprised. She checked his position relative to the part of the glass wall she had shot out, a horrible suspicion taking form in her mind.

"Loan me the light." Rally tossed it to him. "Hey, there's a hell of a lot of blood way over here. The wall's busted. You shoot the Mick?"

"No," she said faintly.

"It ain't yours, girl?" He whirled to look at her. "You hurt?"

"No. A few cuts." She held up a palm. "I shot Brown by accident. I saw O'Toole drawing a bead on you and I fired through the glass wall. I hit Brown instead. And, uh, I'm starting to think—"

"Fine by me." Bean gave her a feral smile. "Don't think the Feds are gonna appreciate it, though."

"Don't remind me! It's only in the leg, I think. O'Toole helped him down the stairs. But I'm trying to say, I think I might have killed this guy. Huang."

"Yeah, that's 426's boy. We got introduced. But O'Toole shot him when I opened the door. That's how I got this, too." He indicated the bullet crease on his head. "You didn't do it."

"He was only wounded! He was alive when I left the office, and he didn't have a head wound! And my shots went all over—I fired four rounds." She tried to wipe some blood off her hands. "I've got only one cartridge left."

"Them's the breaks. Hope ya won't need it." Bean's foot hit the suitcase and it skidded across the floor. He caught it before it went over the edge. "Hey, this thing's empty!"

"What?" The suitcase fell open, showing the interior. They looked at each other. "Maybe he put the cash back in the safe."

Bean threw her the light and tore the painting off the wall. He stared at the lock for a moment, but then he crushed the drywall around the frame with his fists and pried the whole thing away after plunging his fingers through the wall and under the frame. Steel studs and bolts buckled, and Bean dropped the safe on the floor with a thud that made the offices shake. He drew his bowie knife. With a deep breath, he placed it over a hinge and rammed it through the sheet steel, then yanked it out with a screech of metal on metal and repeated the operation.

The door loosened. Bean got a hand inside and heaved. The corner bent back. "Take a look," he said, panting. Rally flashed the light inside. Empty.

"No, nothing."

"Well, then where the hell is it?"

"I...I don't know. Oh, God, O'Toole's taken it with him!"

Suddenly something beeped behind her, and she whirled. The green iMac on the computer desk. The screen came to life and a cheery voice said, "New mail!" Rally took a step towards the desk. An automatic routine executed and an email screen came up. Big pink and purple letters on a yellow background, the kind of colors a four-year-old girl would choose.

_To (Tiffany's Daddy)_

_Dear Daddy, Love and XXXX kisses. Mama says hello and is Manny driving us to Yerup. _

_Love 4 Ever, Tiffany_

_Sent by (Tiffany Maria Brown)_

Rally's eyes suddenly teared up—from smoke, of course. That was right, he had a daughter. One who loved him. She couldn't have any idea what her daddy was like; that he was a slimy, doublecrossing, murderous drug dealer. On a shelf over the computer, a large photograph of mother and daughter. A beautiful blonde, not unlike Rally's own mother, and a happy child...not at all like Rally. But her father had committed terrible crimes and would have to go deep underground now—one way or another. If he wanted his daughter to be safe, he shouldn't even see her again. Rally wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

Bean shook his head. "What? He's got Brown on his hands and he can still haul five thousand greenbacks? What's he carrying it in if the suitcase's still here? It's gotta be in the office!" Bean heaved up one end of the rosewood desk and threw it over with a crash. "Fucking hell!" He kicked a hole in the drywall.

"Calm down!"

"Find that fucking cash, and I'll fucking calm down, girl! I ain't leavin' here without it!" He whipped his head around at her, his teeth glinting in a sharp snarl. Machine gun fire chattered. Rally looked out and saw several men advancing, muzzle flashes cutting through the smoke. No one returned fire. Where were Brown and O'Toole? Dead?

_Weeeeooooooh..._

_Waaaaooooooh..._

"The cops are coming, Bean! And the whole building's made of wood—we're going to be crispy critters if we don't get out!"

"Son of a _bitch!_" He picked up the sculpted glass waterfall table and threw it out the window. It exploded on the concrete. "Thought we'd got home free!" His gaze fell on the corpse. With a stride he was next to it and grabbed Huang by the shirt front and belt. The shattered skull lolled on the limp neck. "Wanna see how big a splat he makes?"

"NO!" Rally shrieked. "Please!"

Bean dropped Huang's body on the carpet again and stared at her. "Hey, you're the one who shot him, babe."

"I KNOW THAT!" she wailed. "Leave him in peace! You have to go!"

"NOT WITHOUT THAT CASH!" roared Bean. He threw the sofa over and stomped the bar cabinet into a mess of splinters and smashed crystal.

_Weeeeooooooh..._

_Waaaaooooooh..._

"You're going to get arrested! _I'm_ going to get arrested! I killed a helpless man! YOU HAVE TO GO! It's not here!"

Bean stood panting, his nose wrinkled and teeth showing in an ugly grimace. His eyes seemed unfocused as they darted around the room. The only thing left intact was the computer, still displaying the little girl's bright message. He ripped it off the desk and sent it sailing into space.

"You goddamn barbarian," whispered Rally. The computer shattered forty feet below. Bean's eyes still seemed wild, rolling from side to side as he stalked from one end of the room to the other like an animal in a cage.

"We've lost, Bean. Give it up." He stopped pacing and glared at her, then started towards Huang's pitiful corpse again as if he meant to devour it whole. "Stop!" She slapped him across the face, hard. He shook his head and blinked. "Get out of here!"

_Weeeeooooooh..._

_Waaaaooooooh..._

_Weeeeooooooh..._

Some Dragons with machine guns started up the north stairs. She still heard no return fire.

"Fucking hell." Bean's head snapped around; he seemed to have finally heard the sirens. "Outta here, Vincent."

They ran down the south staircase and toward the door Bean had opened. Rally could see nothing through the smoke, but behind them came a cry, a man choking in anguish. It sounded like someone who didn't know how to shed tears.

Outside, a narrow walkway and railing ran around to the front. Wind blew even more strongly than when they had entered. The next pier lay fifty yards away across the choppy water.

"How are we going to get off this thing?" said Rally. "I'd bet the Dragons are still at the gate."

"I ain't goin' for another swim in that frickin' septic tank. Let's check it out first."

They edged along the south wall. Sparks fell from the roof and flew out over the water. The fire's roaring grew louder every moment. Rally peered out at the courtyard. No one, except the dead. Dragons mingled with mercenaries in heaps; probably ten men lay there, lives snuffed out with blade and bullets.

Her stomach turned over at the firelight flickering in pools of blood, but Bean headed out to the gate, picking his way around the corpses. Lights flashed down the street to the south, coming closer, as did the sirens.

Bean grabbed a crossbar and an upright, braced himself with one foot against the bars, and heaved. The steel gave and twisted, the halves of the gate separating. He heaved again and widened the gap enough to put his shoulders through. "Come on, girl. Cops are almost here." He started to crawl through, then halted when she didn't follow. "Come on!"

"I...I'm staying."

"You nuts?"

"I'm going to talk to the cops and explain what's happened. It'll be better for me if I don't leave the scene. I've got to face the music!"

"Like hell you do!" He strode back and grabbed her arm. Rally shook him off. "Goddammit, girl. You come with me or I'll pick you up and carry you!"

"Don't you dare!"

"Try me. I ain't letting you get arrested!" He bent, rammed his shoulder into her stomach and whipped the arm around her waist, then hoisted her with a light grunt and turned to the gate. Rally wheezed, the air knocked out of her, but twisted up and stuck the Guardian into Bean's ear.

"Put me down, dammit!"

"Get that thing off of me!" He leaned sideways and shrugged her off his shoulder. She landed hard on the ground and rolled up as he pointed a finger at her. "I'm sick and tired of getting guns in my face, babe! The next time you aim one at me, it better be because you mean to fire it."

"Fine!" She pulled up her skirt and holstered the Guardian. Bean flinched. "You were leaving?"

"And so are you. I don't want to hear any crap about facing the music!" He pushed up one sleeve and displayed his huge gloved fist. "Don't make me knock you cold." Rally glared at him.

_Weeeeooooooh..._

"All right, Bean," she said through her teeth. "I'm coming with you." She slipped through the gap after him.

When he started to cross the street to where they had left Buff, she grabbed his arm. "Don't. There's a black and white at the alley. Someone's seen your car." She pulled him by the jacket and ran to the Y-arm of the pier a short distance to the north, Bean trailing her.

This part was in worse repair, huge gaps showing between the planks, but it had a few scattered structures on it. They scaled the chain-link fence and got into the shelter of an open shed just as the squad cars pulled up to the front of the Dragon pier.

Every window along the length of the warehouse blazed with light and the roof smoked at both ends. She had a good view of the courtyard area across the water as about a dozen policemen emerged from their cars and cautiously began to reconnoiter. A fire engine hung back a few blocks away; apparently they were waiting for the officers to clear out the gunmen and bombs before they ventured near. Five men came out of a door on the north side and came along the walkway towards the front. Rally gasped: were they going to try to shoot the cops? One of them was 426, his face set, oddly, in grief.

She took a deep breath and prepared to give a warning yell, but a shot rang out to her left, from a point to bayward along the pier on which they hid. _BKAM-THUNK! _

A man jerked, lost his machine gun and catapulted over the railing into the water. The rest of the men dropped flat and crawled along the planks.

O'Toole! He had left the pier and lain in wait for the Dragons to exit so he could kill them like rats fleeing a burning barn! Brown must be with him, then, but how they had escaped the warehouse before the Dragons had left she had no idea.

The police all piled into their squad cars at the shot and pulled back from the gate, sirens going. Rally nudged Bean and pointed to her left. He nodded, and they left the shed and moved quietly down the pier, avoiding the enormous holes in the planking.

She had one bullet left, but O'Toole might not know that. Brown was wounded, so the odds were in their favor, even considering O'Toole's rifle. They crept around a building and saw the little bodyguard lying flat on the planks behind some garbage cans, plainly visible in firelight, tracking the Dragon men with his scope. He wore a pair of infrared goggles. Brown was nowhere in sight.

_ BKAM!_ O'Toole fired again and a cry rang out from the men on the walkway. A SWAT truck trundled up and halted half a block away. Assessing the situation, apparently. If she knew procedure, the whole warehouse would burn down before they moved.

The Dragon men got up and ran hell bent for leather to the gate, squeezing through the gap Bean had made, and scattered. O'Toole popped the magazine and reached for a box of shells. Police megaphones squawked at the fugitives and two cars gave pursuit, but Rally was sure they had escaped. Obviously they knew this neighborhood very well.

Time to get O'Toole! She looked at Bean and made a circle in the air with a forefinger to tell him she wanted him to go around the building the other way and come straight at the sniper. Indicating herself, she pointed to a dumpster behind O'Toole's position.

Bean nodded and looked at the dumpster, then counted off on his fingers. Three, two, one. He circled the building out of her sight and she made a quick dash to the cover of the dumpster.

O'Toole had just finished filling the magazine as Bean charged. He looked up and rolled over, sprang to his feet, then swung the rifle as he jammed the magazine into place. He was too fast—Bean was exposed, and she hadn't taken a fix on O'Toole's head yet.

She quickly aimed and pulled the trigger. O'Toole jerked off a shot, or tried to: there was nothing but a dull click. The magazine hadn't been fully engaged on the rifle, and she had knocked it awry with her shot. It hit the planks as it fell, vanishing into a gap and splashing into the water below.

O'Toole made a dreadful face, slung the rifle and launched himself over the side with a larger splash. Bean ran to the edge and looked over.

"He's in between the pilings, swimmin' out to the deep water. Hope he gets a good mouthful of that slime, the little bastard!" Bean spat into the bay, which shimmered in the red light. She was starting to feel the heat from the fire, now bursting through the roof at the landward end of the warehouse.

"If I had another cartridge, I could probably pick him off through the craters in this rotting thing! Damn, I guess he's gotten away. But where's Brown?" Rally looked around her and started towards the largest building on the pier. "O'Toole wouldn't have left him except in a safe place. Maybe he holed up in—"

"What the hell's that?" Bean looked. Someone had called her name, muffled through a wall, but distinctly.

"Rally! Are you there? Can you get to me?"

It seemed to come from the Dragon warehouse. She gave Bean an astonished look and ran down the pier in the direction of the voice. It grew clearer as she approached the bayward end where a window hung open.

"Rally? I hear your little gun. It's me, Brown. I'm still in here, and I can't get out. Can't walk..." He broke off into coughing.

"Brown?"

"You shot me, Rally. I can't walk, and the fire's creeping along the walls. In the name of Christ, you've got to help me get out of here!"

"Oh...my...God..." Her whole body shuddered. "He's going to burn to..."

A human face, withering in flame. The mouth's agonized scream, the hair smoking and blazing; the smell of burning fiberglass and gasoline and human flesh. Her hands shook so much she dropped the Guardian; Bean came up and caught it before it fell.

"Brown! I hear you! I'm going to help you Hang on!" Rally stripped off her jacket and ran towards the edge of the pier. The skin blistering, sizzling; the skull emerging through the skin, the teeth set in a rictus of agony, the eyes— Her sight blurred, her throat tightened, her mind went into a whirl of sick horror and desperation. "I'm coming!"

"Hey! No way!" A hand seized her arm as she tried to dive off the edge. Bean pulled her back and swung her around. "What in the name of hell do ya think yer doin'?"

"The fire's so close, Rally...it's so hot my clothes are smoking..."

"Helping him! The police won't go in, the fire truck's waiting for the cops—I'm the only one who can get to him in time!" She struggled with Bean while he held tight to her wrists, pulling in a frenzy against his massive weight and strength.

"Not in a thousand years, girl! You ain't goin' nowhere!"

"Rallllyyy... Oh God, oh God, no—" The roar of flames grew louder. "Ahhggh! AAAGGHHH!" She could barely hear him now above the furious conflagration. "GODDDD! NOOOO! HELP ME, RALLY! HELLLLP MEEEEE! AAH! AIIIIIGGGHHHH!"

"BEAN!" she howled. "PLEASE! For the love of GOD—!"

"For him? I should let you get yourself killed for HIM?"

"AAAIIIIGGGGHHH! DEAR GOD…RALLLLYYY!"

"Let me go!" She writhed and fought him, her clothes working awry. "I have to HELP him! He's BURNING TO DEATH!"

"There isn't one friggin' thing you can do, girl! Come on!" Bean hauled her up the pier to the fence, dragging her most of the way.

"NO! I can't LEAVE—"

"Raalllyyy...!" The voice died out in choking gasps, drowned in fire.

"Nooo!" she sobbed. "Oh, God, Bean, let me go!" She bit his wrist and broke free; she had taken two steps before something crashed teeth-jarringly into the back of her head, and the firelight faded to black.


	8. Chapter 8

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Eight  
**

He had her slung over his shoulder again, her head hanging down along his back. As he jogged, holding her around the waist with one arm, her body jolted up and down in a harsh rhythm that made her seasick. For a few moments, Rally could not remember where she was, or who was carrying her, and she imagined that her father had picked her up as part of a game.

She wanted to tell him to hold her more gently, and not to let Mama find them in the woods, but she opened her eyes to see wet pavement passing backwards in the orange light of street lamps and fire and the backs of Bean's legs and boots thumping along the sidewalk, and she knew exactly what had happened almost up to the moment he had knocked her out.

The smell of the fire surrounded them; she had only been out for a few minutes, but the weather had broken and it had started to rain. This wasn't the rotten pier, it was the street outside. He'd gotten them both over the fence, then, or through it, most likely. She heard sirens, shouting policemen and vehicles; a boat motor out on the bay.

Bean slowed and turned a corner, then stopped by a wall. Bending his knees, he eased her forward and off his shoulder, cradling her in his arms and holding her half upright. Limp still, she tried to push against his chest and break away, but she felt weak as a newborn kitten.

He looked carefully at her face and put one hand on her forehead. Rally tried to turn her head away, but it whirled and pitched dizzily, her eyes rolling back, so she closed them again and groaned. "You...hit me..."

"Goddammit, girl, it was that or watch you kill yourself! Why'd you make me do it?" He felt the back of her head, which had developed a hard lump. Her wig sat awry. "Nice goose egg." He grimaced. "Babe, slugging you is something I don't ever want to do again. You mind not giving me any more reasons to?"

"Damn you, Bean," she got out, hitting his chest with slack fists.

"Don't go makin' noise." He glanced over her shoulder. "There's still a couple of uniforms messing with the car."

She turned around and looked, her vision swimming. Two policemen with flashlights examined Buff with idle fascination, their car parked halfway across the alley. In front of the blazing pier an ambulance had arrived, its lights circulating at full tilt. The uniformed officers milled around their squad cars, radios crackling. A plainclothes detective with a bullhorn shouted, attempting to direct the chaos.

Someone used a welding torch on the gate, and when it sprang open, the two policemen with Buff went running to join up with the rest of the officers. Bean half carried Rally across the street from their hiding place. On the way he took out a keyless remote and clicked the doors open. After lowering her into the car and buckling her seatbelt for her, he started the engine and peeled out. The squad car took a hit in the rear left quarter and rotated aside as Buff scraped past.

Rally's limp body sank into the upholstery as Bean threw the gearshift back and purred south along the waterfront at seventy miles per hour. She closed her eyes. Two sirens behind them. Bean took a right turn and stomped on the gas, gunning it up a steep hill. The sirens faded. He took a swerving left down a steep decline, then another right, and raced the next few blocks at high speed.

She never opened her eyes. All she could see was Huang's dead face, pained and surprised, and Tiffany Brown's message glowing in the dark office. She had killed a helpless, wounded man with a borrowed gun; an under-the-table transaction on which Roy Coleman had staked his badge. And Tiffany's daddy was dead.

Rolling her head back and forth, she tried to stop hearing the voice in her ears: her name, over and over, rasping and coughing, pleading, screaming, dying. She shook again, her muscles fluttering, and jerked up and down in her seat, trying to master an unmasterable pain. It didn't matter who he was. It only mattered that he had died in agony while she had stood helpless. The voice grew louder.

"Lost 'em." Bean throttled back. "What the hell do we do now?"

"I don't know." Rally kept her eyes closed. She had an odd fancy that as long as she could keep them shut, all the consequences of this disaster would fail to fall on her head. Once they opened, the world would know every detail in sickening clarity.

Cable car tracks juddered under Buff's stiff suspension and her lids flew open. Mist and fog blurred the lights, the streets black and shining wet. Bean turned on his windshield wipers.

"I'll go to the hotel. I'd better take a roundabout route."

"Fine." Rally closed her eyes again.

Roy's face now. Accusing, disappointed, bleak, with two dour FBI agents looking over his shoulders. Whose fault was this? She'd been too eager for the prize. So had Bean, though he'd have preferred to fetch it himself. Roy had cautioned her from the beginning, but he'd trusted her abilities and instincts. The Feds had smelled a big catch just as she had. They had not willingly trusted her with it, though, and they had been right.

Smith and Wesson, aimed like a gun to her head... And she hadn't even been able to stay on the scene and explain. Thanks to Bean.

She turned and looked at him. Blood was half-dry on his face. Set and tight, his huge jaw jutted out as he ground his teeth. He looked at her, a street light casting a sudden flash of yellow over the scarred bridge of his nose. Him. Only because of him.

"Fucking goddamn hell..." he muttered as he negotiated the dark streets. "All that shit, and nothin' to show for it..."

Bean Bandit, a crook just like Brown, but without even a hint of the dead man's oily grace. Raw, crude, incapable of playing a part. At another time, she might even have called it honesty. Right now it looked like coarse, naked greed.

"Gonna find that Mick and that wop Manichetti and twist their fuckin' heads off. And I'd kill Brown if he wasn't dead." He made a sideways snarl, fingers tightening on the wheel, and ran a red light. "Goddammit...all that cash!"

She made a hissing sound of disgust. Couldn't he think about anything but the money?

"What?" Bean glared at her.

Rally turned away and stared through the windshield. Brown was dead. Roy's badge was in jeopardy. The money was gone, and if O'Toole had it, he was probably miles away by now. There would be no reward, no testimony. Larry Sam had risked himself for nothing...and she had told Brown about him, she realized with a rolling wave of nausea.

She picked up Bean's car phone and dialed the Eight Dragon Delight. The line rang four times and went to voicemail. She clicked the phone off. It was nearly midnight and no one would be answering. She had better call Roy. But when she did, she felt sure she was going to cry. The tears were there, waiting to gush like a summer thunderstorm. Bean's wipers brushed aside a light drizzle.

She would not cry in front of Bean Bandit. Never, never, never. She put the phone back in the console and curled up in a ball.

* * *

"Hey, wake up," said Bean in her ear. "Let's go get cleaned up." Rally blinked and straightened, realizing they were in the hotel's underground parking garage. The lowest level, 4Z, right next to the elevator. Her head felt better, though the lump still ached.

"Geez, did I fall asleep? What time is it?"

"Quarter past midnight. Yeah, you were snoring all the way here. Kinda cute."

Rally showed her teeth to him, then reached for the door handle. Pain from the cuts to her hand sizzled through her. "Aghh..."

"You OK?"

"It's nothing." Bean looked at her with a wry expression. "All right, it hurts! Satisfied?"

Bean reached over her and opened the door, his triceps brushing her chest. "I could take you to a hospital." He put his hand on the headrest of her seat.

"Uh-huh, and while I'm waiting in the emergency room, you waltz off to find O'Toole and the cash! Not a chance, Bean."

His face twitched with annoyance and he looked away. "You're awful damn sure what I'm going to do in any given situation, ain't ya? Must be nice to know someone that well." Bean got out of the car and slammed the driver's door.

Rally pulled herself out and leaned against the car, looking at her bloody hands and the torn dress. "I can't walk through the lobby like this...someone's going to notice."

"Let 'em notice. I ain't no centerfold myself right now." Bean took off his wet, scarred jacket, walked around the rear of the car and popped the trunk, tossing the jacket inside and taking out his duffel bag. "Man, I'm going through these like salted peanuts." He unzipped the duffel and pulled out another jacket.

"How many of those do you have?"

"Last spare." He put it on and transferred his soggy effects to the pockets, then wiped his face with a bandanna. Some of the blood came off in flakes, some smeared along his hairline.

"Look, people might assume you're responsible for all the damage to my outfit!" Rally knotted a broken strap and yanked the dress down. "You want someone calling the cops for a suspected assault?"

Bean shot an angry look at her. "Hey!"

"Hit a nerve?" God, what a bitchy thing to say...

He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through clenched teeth. "I never tried anything like that on you, and you know it, babe. I've kicked guy's asses for it before now, and you saw me do it, too. What the hell's with you?"

Wow, she _had_ struck a nerve. "Nothing! Sorry! But you have to admit you don't look like an upstanding citizen right now, Mr. Bandit! Try escorting me upstairs like this and see what happens!"

A large T-shirt sailed through the air and landed on her face. It was clean, but smelled of him. Bean locked the trunk and strode away to the elevator with his duffel.

Rally held up the T-shirt, sighed, and pulled it over her head. It came down to the middle of her thighs, entirely covering her dress. She looked ridiculous. But the sleeves reached past her elbows and concealed some of the bruises developing on her arms. Conspicuous among them were the wide livid marks Bean's grip had left on her wrists.

Bean held the elevator door for her, leaning against it with his arms folded. His scowl had returned, though he snorted at her appearance. Rally stripped off her shredded pantyhose and wadded them up in her hand, and they rode the elevator to the lobby without speaking. Her hands hurt, her head hurt, and Bean's stony face hurt.

They crossed the lobby past the bar and the check-in desk and waited for the elevator, their images reflected in the steel door. Bean, wide-shouldered and towering over her, his posture a little hunched. Her own face looked pale, her wig disarranged.

The elevator seemed to take forever to climb the eight stories. At the door of their room, Rally felt for the key. In her lost purse, of course. Her eyes began to sting and she bit her lip hard, praying she wouldn't cry in front of Bean, especially over such trivia. After a moment, he looked at her.

"Ya got it?"

"N-no..." Her voice cracked.

"Never mind, I got the spare." He pulled it out of the pocket of his jeans and opened the door. Rally ran inside, took off the T-shirt and ran into the bathroom, immediately turning on the water in the tub. Bean rapped on the closed door.

"I'm gonna get some ice from the machine. That gun's on the table. I ain't waltzing off to China, in case you come out any time soon."

She didn't answer, biting her lips to keep from crying. Sitting on the toilet seat, she rocked back and forth for several minutes. The running water would cover the sound if she did cry, but then she'd have to face him with tear-streaks and red eyes.

In the mirror over the sink, she saw her expression: set, grim, much older than she usually appeared. The makeup had something to do with it, but the eyes held something she had never seen before. The reflection of death? Those could be the eyes of someone who had just committed murder... She took the wig off, bobby pins yanking and popping, and threw it on the floor.

"Hey, you finished in there?" Bean rapped on the door again. "We better blow out of here soon as we can."

Rally got up and flung the door open, then walked to the table by the window and sat down.

"Thought you were washing up, babe."

"I didn't." The sweat and scratches felt like penance, the torn dress like spandex sackcloth and ashes...

"Yeah, I could tell." He looked at her speculatively. "You OK?"

"Just fine."

"I got some ice for first aid." Bean put a cardboard bucket on the table. "You want some on your hands?"

She didn't reply, and he took a face towel from the bathroom and wrung it out under the faucet. "Here. Put some ice in it and hold it to the cuts. I'm gonna put some on my head." He put the towel in her hand, where it hung limply, and returned to the bathroom with his duffel. The shower went on.

When he came out after a few minutes, he had washed the blood from his face and neck and the mud from his hair and changed his filthy jeans for a dry pair. Bean picked up the T-shirt she had discarded, tossed it on the hide-a-bed and shed his jacket.

While pulling his bloodstained shirt over his head, he paused. Rally sat inert with the damp towel still in her hand. After watching her for a moment, he sighed, threw the bloody shirt on the floor and sat down in the other chair.

"Shit."

With one hand, he scooped ice out of the bucket while he took the towel and spread it out with the other. He made a mound of ice chips, wrapped it up, and took her left hand in his. "Kills the sting."

He plopped the cold towel in her palm and put her right hand on top. Then he cupped both her hands in both of his, pressing them around the ice, leaning forward with his head low, elbows on his knees. She could smell him, his bare skin still hot, with a metallic hint of blood sharpening his usual scent of smoke and musky leather. His wet hair dripped slowly on her knees.

"I don't blame you, girl." Bean spoke in a cajoling tone that struck her as almost condescending. "It was Brown's deal, and he's dead, so good riddance. With him out of the way, maybe we can take out the other two—"

"YOU don't BLAME me?" Rally exploded. "Thank you SO much!"

"Shit! This ain't the end of the world, babe! We aren't dead, we aren't arrested. What's the problem?"

"He burned to death!" Rally yanked her hands out of Bean's grasp. "He died because I shot him and he couldn't escape!"

"Yeah, a scumbag of a drug dealer. Who gives a shit about him?"

"The FBI, that's who! And his...his..." She choked.

"You don't even like those guys—what, Smith and Jones? Who cares?"

"I do! That was the whole reason I got into this deal in the first place! Brown's testimony! Everything's RUINED, Bean!"

"So you won't get the reward! That half-million is still out there, babe, and I'll give you your cut. That ought to put the roses back in yer cheeks!" He reached for her hands and she leaped up, the ice scattering on the floor.

"I don't WANT the damn money! Haven't you heard one word I've said? It's drug profits! I did this to bring down the Dragons, for people like Larry Sam—"

"Oh, fuckin' A!" Bean leaned an elbow on the table and sneered. "It's all higher motives in here, huh? Like polishing your rep? Like flirtin' with the cops an' the college boy to get what you want? That popgun must've come from Coleman, because you sure didn't have it before. What's he think he's gonna get in exchange?"

"He's a friend! Do you even have any friends!"

"'Course I do! What the hell do you think I am, girl?"

"A GODDAMN BARBARIAN, THAT'S WHAT!" she howled at him. "You don't care about ANYONE OR ANYTHING except MONEY AND CARS! You have no class, no restraint, you never even made it through high school, you make me sick with your eating habits and your smoking and your stinking WALNUT SHELLS! Who could ever stand to have you around, you violent, crass, oversized thug of a—"

"Driver!" Bean slammed his hands on the table and got up. "That's what I do. I drive. I don't pretend to be anything else, babe. I don't claim God's on my side and I don't claim to be any better than the next man. Except under the hood and behind the wheel, and you know DAMN WELL THAT'S THE TRUTH! You ain't said word ONE to me as long as you thought you could use me, girl! Take me as I am or shut the HELL up!"

"You're a CRIMINAL! I don't know why I ever thought I could work with you! I must have lost my MIND!"

"I don't see you doin' much different from me, babe! You never saw a law you couldn't justify breaking into bits when it was convenient! Only thing is, I don't claim it's MORAL!"

"What the hell do you know about MORALITY! You justify the worst things under color of a JOB! If it's in your contract, you'll commit any crime up to and including MURDER!"

"At least with me, you KNOW what the rules are!"

"Consistency is the soul of virtue, huh? I don't think so!"

"I ain't ever shot a guy in the back, Vincent."

"You son of a bitch!" She shook with fury, her face stiff. "I saw someone about to shoot YOU! I can't walk out into the line of fire the way you can! I had no choice! I...had...no..."

"But you whacked the wrong guy. You didn't want to let me help you! Where'd all that righteousness get you tonight? Where'd it get Brown?"

"Like you care!" So close to tears her voice trembled.

"I don't give a bucket of warm shit about Brown. He got what he deserved. If you weren't so goddamn wound up about—"

Rally gulped hard, trying to swallow the tightness in her throat, and found a vicious whisper. "You're an animal, Bean. A frozen-hearted animal with no better human feeling at all. You only want to eat too much and fight too much and drive too fast. And sleep with lots of women! Nothing but lower brain functions ever interests you."

"Bullshit. You don't know the first thing about me, babe." He leaned over her, his bare chest close to hers and his face even closer. His features worked and his cheeks flushed. "You're freakin' two-faced on that count yourself. You wanted me to screw you not three days ago, and now I'm an animal? _I_ didn't get THAT one rolling down the road!"

"But you sure got behind the wheel and hit the accelerator! You still want me all to yourself! You've been snarling like a dog at any man who looks at me! You even started in on Roy! You don't own me, Bean! You're NOT my boyfriend!"

"No, I'm just your freakin' partner. The guy who drives you around and bails you out when you get your ass in deep shit. The guy who cut you in on the deal in the first place and told you everything he knew 'cause he thought he might be on to a good thing. The guy who's been givin' this his best shot even when he gets jerked around by this little gal who calls him names one minute and makes eyes at him the next." The mixture of sting and hunger in his words reminded her of his sexual challenge in the motel room. "What the hell am I supposed to think, huh? How the hell am I supposed to know what to do about it? Will you give me a goddamn clue once in a while?"

They stood inches from each other, both breathing hard.

"I...I..."

Bean rolled his head back and let out a deep exasperated breath. "I mean, shit. You let a slimeball like Brown get under your skin, and you'll call ME names? That guy was phony to the core and I knew it the second I met him—hell, the second I picked up the call. For that kind of money, I'll listen to bullshit from here to Canada, but it all went in one ear and out the other, and not 'cause I don't have a brain in there!" He raised a brow at her. "If you believed one damn word he said, you're a goddamn fool. I ain't ever going to hand you a line of crap like that, babe."

He was right. He was so right that the truth made her irrationally furious with him. She had been a fool on so many counts she had only one defense left. If she chose to use it...

"Hey, you'll learn. Don't look so bent outta shape. Who cares if you ain't on the straight any more? We could make a business out of this yet if we just work the bugs out! I can show you—"

"I don't need you, Bean! I don't want to be your partner in crime! I should never have agreed to this! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

"Huh?"

"You and your goddamn MONEY! You chased him across the country, you nearly got both of us killed so many times I've lost track, you sucked me into this and RUINED MY VACATION! Now I'm practically an outlaw myself and that's just the way you like it! I must have been insane to make you any promises, you MERCENARY ASSHOLE! I hate your GUTS!"

His face reddened. "Yeah, I must have been nuts to ask you in the first place! And I shoulda ignored that little strip show you put on for my benefit! Man, all hot and bothered over a few buttons and a pair of stockings! Could have taken care of that with ONE HAND!"

"Same here, big guy!" Rally flipped him off. "One little finger worked better than all that OVERGROWN BEEF!"

"Hey! You liked it damn well and you know it!" He raised his chin, his eyes narrowing. "I wish I'd gone ahead and nailed you good. Maybe then I could have got you out of my system and skipped all this FEMALE CRAP!"

"Oh, one good screw and I'd be fawning at your heels? Dream on!"

Bean made a sudden move towards her and she flinched back. "Like to get it started again, huh? You think you can throw me on the bed and solve the whole problem the HARD WAY!"

Bean stepped forward again, his eyes locked with hers. For the briefest moment, something like intent rose to the surface. A harsher form of the desire she'd been seeing in his face for days. But he didn't raise his hands, didn't keep moving towards her.

"I can see you want to, Bean. Bad enough to try force?"

His whole body shuddered. "Don't you ever say that to me, girl. Never, you hear?"

"You'd love to do it, wouldn't you? You slugged me so hard my head's still ringing! Methinks he protests too much!"

"SHUT UP, YOU—" Bean stopped abruptly with his finger aimed at her face. "I ain't giving you any excuse to waste me. I ain't gonna end up like Huang. If you don't know I'm not that kinda scumbag by now, then the hell with you, Vincent."

He picked up the clean T-shirt and pulled it on, then donned his jacket and zipped it. "I'm going to get that Mick and I'm going to get that money. You want your share, come and ask me nice. Or shoot me in the back for it if that's too much trouble for you!"

"You son of a bitch. You don't even care if human beings are dead..."

"You think whatever the hell you want. I give up." Bean looked around at her. "Don't know why I even tried. But it might come to me..." he muttered.

A shadow passed over his features, and for a startling moment Rally saw sad regret in a face she had thought almost incapable of subtler emotions. "I'm blowing this joint." Bean picked up his duffel. "You got your own car, you got your pet cop and you got your _real_ partner. Guess I was just takin' up valuable space, huh?"

He waited for an instant, hand on the doorknob. When she didn't reply, he opened it, went out and slammed it behind him in one motion.

Ice melted on the carpet around her feet. She watched it idly for a while, numb. It was mostly water before she moved again.

* * *

426 sat at Huang's desk, head on folded hands, silent. His breathing was erratic, his shoulders quivering slightly. Wo and another man looked uneasily at him and at each other, but did not speak.

"I will have to call his parents," said 426 after a long time. "Please look up their number—I will wait until it is morning in Hawaii, but I want to have it at my fingertips."

"Yes, sir. Um..."

"It was necessary to leave him in the office. The coroner's team will be examining his body by now, because the fire is out. When their report is ready, get me a copy immediately. And of the autopsy when it is complete."

"Yes, sir. Excuse me, but—"

"The ballistics report as well. I must have that as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir. There is someone waiting to see you, sir."

"Later, Wo."

"This is someone you may wish to talk to, sir."

"Why?" 426 finally looked up. "Why would I want to talk to anyone?" His eyes were not wet, but they burned red with smoke irritation and with something else. Wo took an involuntary step backwards.

"This is one of the perpetrators, sir. I don't know why he came here, but we have disarmed him and are holding him in the basement. It is O'Toole, sir."

"_What?" _

"We thought it might give you some consolation to execute him, sir. But of course he may have useful information—"

426 got up and moved out the door, his lips contorted in fury. "Bring me an extra tank of fuel for the blowtorch."

"Yes, sir."

In the basement room, the little bodyguard sat in a metal chair, secured to it with eight lengths of wire cable, knotted cruelly tight. Four men stood or sat around the dark room, smoking and conversing in low voices.

The single bright light shone straight down above O'Toole's head. His face was smoke-blackened and mucky, with cleaner trails washed down his cheeks, and he was still crying. When 426 entered, he let out a strangled sob and wept noisily, head on his chest.

"Behave like a man," snapped 426. "You will make a pathetic ghost." He pulled on his leather gloves.

"He's callin' out to me!" cried O'Toole. "He's askin' me to take revenge! He's tellin' me, rescue me soul out've Purgatory so I won't howl there in pain forever! If ye ever loved me, he says, KILL THAT PAKI BITCH!"

"Except in regard to Bandit's conversion, the bounty hunter does not concern me," said 426. "You will have no opportunity to deal with her, so be silent. You will need your voice for other things." Wo handed him a blowtorch.

"She don't concern yeh? Man, don't ye know?" O'Toole shouted. "She's the one killed yer boy! Shot him straight through the head, didn't she?"

"You shot him, O'Toole. This pitiful attempt—"

"No! I winged him when I shot at Bandit! He wasn't dead, see?" O'Toole rocked the chair with his vehemence. "I wasn't gunning for him. Just pinked him, y'know?"

"Why would she shoot him?"

"Why, because she's a bloodthirsty bitch." O'Toole gave a significant nod. "Who ever heard of a wee girl usin' a gun that way? She's unnatural, ain't she? She likes to fill a man full've lead and see 'im gurgle out his last breath! I saw her do it, didn't I? And didn't I see her laugh like a witch while he begged for his precious life? Cold as ice, that girl."

"You are an inferior liar, O'Toole," said 426. "You stood by and watched it happen, you say, and you expect that to soften your fate?" He turned to one of the men. "Cigarette lighter, please."

"All right, she didn't stand over him, then!" shouted O'Toole. "She shot through the wall from the middle office. Crippled me darlin' lad, and killed yer Huang. The bullets was deflected down through the glass, and one got his kneecap and one his thigh and another yer boy's skull, 'cause he was laying there on the rug. She had a mini-.32—there's bound to be shell casings on the floor. It'll be a .32 through his head, you'll see." He swiveled as far as he could and looked at one of the men. "Ye've got me .45 and ye've got me rifle! I carried no .32, now did I?"

"You could easily have discarded it in the bay, O'Toole. That proves nothing." 426 lit the blowtorch. The flame glowed blue and yellow, roaring softly in the quiet room.

"And why would I want a damned baby's toy like that? That's a gun for women, isn't it? And it's a damned woman's killed 'em both. That's the bitch ye want! RALLY VINCENT! I don't care what ye do with me—just let me see that nigger bitch spread out in front o' me before I die!" O'Toole took a deep, sobbing breath. "I'll do whatever ye want, 426. I'll take the fall for her and ye can roast me for dinner after I've finished the job. He's burned, and I'll burn too. Use me up, toss the bits to the crabs, 'cause I'm yours." He hung his head again, weeping. "Me own precious darlin' lad...me sweet boy…" The flame went on roaring.

"Take off his shirt." Two men came forward at 426's direction and seized O'Toole's damp turtleneck by the sides, tearing it down over his shoulders. It split and fell to his waist. His skin was pale and blotchy, his muscles corded and taut with a sparse covering of rusty hair. "Hold his head."

One man grabbed O'Toole's hair and pulled his head back so that his chin pointed at the ceiling. He closed his eyes against the bright light, his lips moving. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."

426 stepped forward and licked the flame quickly at the side of his chest, then stroked it horizontally to the right. Rusty hairs curled and smoked in its path, pale skin reddening, blistering, scorching.

"Arrggh!"

The stroke ended in a quick downturn, and then 426 drew another horizontal line an inch below the first, right to left. O'Toole jerked and arched and screamed, the chair's legs clanging on the floor. 426 made two quick vertical strokes between the long lines, changed the angle of the flame and worked for a few moments longer, ending with a long vertical downstroke and an upward hook. He moved back.

O'Toole hyperventilated a cloud of spittle, his teeth clenched. The stink of burnt flesh and hair filled the room.

"Take it." 426 handed the torch to Wo. "I have done."

"Gonna let the bumboys finish the job?" moaned O'Toole. "I'll last all night, you'll see..."

"No, that is all. Release him." The men all started in surprise. "I have accepted Mr. O'Toole's offer." He pointed to the Chinese character he had drawn on O'Toole's chest and Wo raised his brows.

"Retribution'?"

"That is his purpose now. I have branded it on him, so that he will not forget to whom he owes this duty. Return his equipment and brief him. Do not allow him out until I give orders—I will tell him when to strike." Wo took the blowtorch and cut the wire cables that secured O'Toole to the chair, and he slumped forward. "Take him for medical attention now. I will speak to him later." Two men put O'Toole's arms over their shoulders and supported him out of the room.

"Is this wise, sir?" said Wo. "He is not a highly controllable element."

"That is what I am counting on," said 426.

* * *

Rally's cell phone sat on the vanity where she had left it, and she flipped it open and pushed the first program button. The line rang only once before it was picked up.

"Roy Coleman here."

"Roy, it's Rally. It's over." She wandered into the bedroom and flung herself on the bed.

"Yeah? Have you got Brown—?"

"Brown's dead." Rally took a deep breath. "It was a doublecross, just like you suspected. We got nothing."

"Good God, kid! He's DEAD? What happened? The hitman show up?"

"Yes, but that's not who killed him."

"Who, then? Don't tell me Bean—"

"No. I shot him. With that mini-.32. Close range through a glass wall. That thing's got punch." She raised the Guardian up where she could see it and dropped it on the bed. Not so cute after all. The stock was sticky with blood. "Crippled him. He couldn't walk, and when the place caught fire—"

"Wha—at?"

"The San Francisco cops are on the scene now. Bean made me leave with him or I'd have stayed to explain. I'm in the hotel now." She lay flat and stared at the ceiling. Still numb. "One of my shots went astray, and killed a Dragon man who'd been wounded. Went right through his head."

"Why the hell did you shoot him? With the gun I got for you...oh, holy name." Roy suddenly gasped. "Oh, my dear God. Why?"

"It...I don't know how it happened, but I thought I had O'Toole in my sights, and I thought he was about to shoot Bean. But I hit Brown, and that poor kid. Are Smith and Wesson there?"

"S-Smith and Wesson...they went down to the bar to get some nachos, they said. They've been sitting here for two hours making cracks about women bounty hunters and city cops and watching porno movies on the hotel pay-per-view, on my nickel. What the hell have YOU been doing, Rally?"

"Goddammit, Roy! I TRIED! It was a setup!" Weary, so dull and tired...

"Must have been one hell of a setup!"

"Oh, Christ, Roy! How do you think I feel about it! I wish I'd never come to California..."

"Hey, girl, are you OK? You don't sound too good."

"I'm all right. Got a few cuts and bruises, but it's not serious. I'm just worn out."

"Here come the Feds. Just a second." Roy put the phone down and she heard indistinct voices. He picked it up again in a couple of minutes, sounding angry. "Is your partner there?"

"N-no..."

"What's wrong? Did he pull—"

"No, he backed me up. Distracted O'Toole long enough for me to get out of his sights. But he's mad about the cash. He l-left. Little while ago."

"Left? Damn, we must have missed him."

"Missed him? You staked out the hotel?"

"Rally, Smith spotted the car today. He recognized it too, from some prison escape job, and he chewed the hell out of me." His voice was low and hissing. "Accused me of shielding a criminal. I pointed out there weren't any warrants on the guy, and he backtracked a little. He agreed to let you two go through with the operation, since you needed Bean's help. But after that..."

"They were going to arrest him." She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back on the pillow.

"They were going to detain him for questioning. There's a lookout watching the hotel. But he hasn't called. Bean did park there?"

"You asking me to rat him out, Roy?"

"I don't think you're in much of a position to refuse, girl!" Roy sounded furious. "I put my neck out for you here and I WANT AN ANSWER! Where is he?"

What did it matter? "He was parked in the garage." Her voice cracked. "He's driving Buff. And he was moving fast when he left. Fifteen, twenty minutes ago now." An eternity. Why had she been so angry with him? It was hard to remember.

"I'm going to confirm this with the Feds. Wouldn't put it past 'em to keep me in the dark..." Roy put the phone down again.

Rally stared at the ceiling. Angry? Oh, yes, she had killed someone, hadn't she? Shot a helpless man and let a human being die horribly in a fire. And Bean had scoffed at her distress and called her a fool for caring. Was that why her emotions seemed to have shut down? From trying so hard not to cry in front of him? Bean was gone now. Why couldn't she cry?

Roy came on the line again. "He's still watching. No sign of Buff coming out. Of course no one called me to say he'd gone in..."

"There's only one exit to that garage. That car shows up for blocks anyway." Something was knocking up against the ice of her emotions.

"Well, sure. The man had some surveillance-camera photos of Buff, faxed from Chicago and DC. But no one had a good one of Bean. So where the hell—"

A mental bullet crashed through her wall of indifference. "Talk to you later, Roy!" shouted Rally.

"Hey—!"

_Click._

She threw the phone on the bed and hurriedly put on a fresh pair of pantyhose, jamming her feet into her shoes at the same time. Where had she stashed her CZ75? She flung herself on the carpet and reached under the bed, hauling out her shoulder holster and nine-millimeter. Quickly she strapped it on and threw on her professional jacket to hide it. Still wearing a torn red spandex dress—the hell with it, no time to change.

Rally dashed out into the hall. The elevator was heading down to the lobby, so she took the stairs, sliding on the wooden banisters as fast as she could go. The stairs came out next to the door of the bar and she ran over to the garage elevator and punched the button. A sluggish whir of cables began and she jittered around in a circle.

If the car was still there, where was Bean? Had he set off on foot? Not for any distance, surely—he drove everywhere. But in a compact city like San Francisco, a hell of a lot of things were within walking distance—like the Dragon pier. If he'd gone back there to look for the cash all on his own without even a means of escape, from cops or gangsters—

Rally got in the garage elevator and went down to the lowest level. There was Buff, standing right where they had left it, and the little white Honda. He hadn't driven, wherever he had gone.

Not wanting to wait for the elevator, she ran up the ramps to where she had parked the Cobra and leaped inside the car. All of her weariness was forgotten, and her anger with Bean, for the moment. She couldn't let him get arrested!

The Cobra's tires squealed as she took a hard right out of the parking garage and raced down the hill to the pier. No one was walking on the streets at this hour. Dozens of squad cars and emergency vehicles still scattered all around the neighborhood and the area was cordoned off. Rally parked the Cobra behind TV trucks and slowly moved up to the police line.

The pier was dark; the fire was out. A stretcher came out of the front door, carrying a body bag. Rally trembled, but forced it down and walked over to the nearest uniform, a policewoman.

"Excuse me..." she began.

"It was a bomb, lady. This street's gonna be closed for hours."

"Oh. W-was anyone killed?"

"Yep, afraid so. There's one of 'em now." She pointed at the stretcher, being loaded into a coroner's van. "Loads of stiffs in the yard there, and some inside too. It's gonna be front page tomorrow." She looked at Rally. "You feeling all right, lady? Sorry if I said something to upset you."

"N-no, it's OK." She gulped hard. "I was looking for someone. Could you tell me if anyone's tried to get past the police lines?"

"No—well, the Channel 2 news team, but they always do that. You looking for a lost kid or something?"

"No, an adult. He's about thirty, six-seven, black hair. Has anyone seen him? Maybe hanging around?"

The policewoman looked over at a colleague, who shrugged. "Nope. No one like that. Sounds like he sticks out."

"He does. Thank you." Rally smiled weakly and walked back to the Cobra.

Once behind the wheel, she tried to consider what to do. Her weariness began to return and the lump on the back of her head throbbed. Where was Bean? She had no answer to that, so she drove back to the hotel, arriving not more than ten minutes after she had started for the pier. She left the Cobra in the garage near Buff and headed upstairs again, entering the lobby and punching the button for the main elevator.

"Uh, sir, I asked you to put out that cigarette..." she heard from the bar. The elevator opened and Rally turned to enter.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a silhouetted shape in the bar. Someone hunched over the lighted counter, someone broad-shouldered enough to block out most of the view through the open double doors.

She skipped quickly aside to move out of the line of sight, bumping into a man who was trying to get in the elevator. "Sorry," she hissed, and hugged the wall. He threw her a dirty look.

Rally worked her way along the wall, crossed the hall and crept up to the door of the bar. Before looking inside, she checked her holster and thought for a moment. Why had he stayed here? What was it going to get him?

"Sir, it's against the law to smoke in here. Some of the other patrons are complaining."

"It's a goddamn _bar," _said Bean wearily. "How can you not smoke in a bar?"

"I don't make the rules, sir, it's a state law—"

"California." Bean shook his head. "Remind me again why I left home?"

Maybe he was just having a drink for the road. But would Bean drive drunk? Rally sucked in her breath and stepped into the bar.

He had three empty beer pitchers at his elbow and another one in his fist, half full. Rally watched as he lifted the whole thing to his lips and downed the remainder, then gestured to the bartender.

"Uh, sir, I'm sorry, but I can't serve you another."

"Why the hell not?"

"Um, it's the law. If we serve someone who's already had too much—"

Bean creased a fifty between his fingers and waved it under the bartender's nose. "Who says I've had too much?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but I could lose my job. If you drink on the premises, we can get sued for anything you might—"

"Califoooornia," moaned Bean, and stood up, all six foot seven of him. The bartender gulped. "How 'bout I just take this outside with me? Then I won't be drinking on the premises." He gripped the bar, one hand on each side, and rocked it slightly to the sound of straining bolts.

"Eeek!" squeaked the bartender. "Please!"

Bean heaved and the bar worked loose. Glasses fell to the floor and the other patrons jumped clear. A tap popped free and sprayed beer in an amber fountain. A woman screamed.

Rally jumped forward, grabbed Bean's elbow and shouted in his ear. "Knock it off, Bean!"

His head snapped around and he dropped the bar with a thud. The lights under the counter went out and beer geysered to the ceiling.

"You with _him,_ lady?" The bartender scrambled to shut off the tap.

"Yes, I am." Rally snatched up the duffel. "Are you drunk, Bean?"

"I'm calling the cops!" The bartender reached for a phone. "This guy's a wild animal!"

"No, wait! He can pay for the damage."

Rally snapped her fingers at Bean for his wallet, but he only stared at her. She unzipped his jacket, frisked him with her free hand and pulled out a wad of fifties, dropping it in a puddle of beer on the counter. "Here—this ought to cover it. Now come with me!" she ordered Bean. Duffel in one hand and Bean's elbow in the other, she towed him to the elevator.

"He play with the Niners or something?" she heard one of the patrons say.

"Naw, gotta be the Raiders," said someone else.

"Where the hell are we going?" grumbled Bean.

"Outside where I can keep you from getting arrested! Christ, what were you thinking?" She shoved him inside the garage elevator and punched the button. Bean looked down at her with slightly unfocused eyes.

"What's the deal?"

"Did you know there's an FBI man waiting for you to leave? I just talked to Roy."

"Well, I figured that. So what do you care?"

"You're spoiling for a chase, huh? In San Francisco? There aren't that many ways out of this city, and you don't know them very well. They'll nail you to the wall, Bean."

"Me?" Bean grinned wolfishly. Rally flinched.

"All right, maybe you could do it. But I don't want you causing any more mayhem than you already have! You're plastered."

"Ahh, I'm not that drunk." Bean belched. "I only had four pitchers of beer. I was gonna get in my car in a minute."

"Even with your metabolism, that's a hell of a stupid risk! Why go into the bar in the first place?"

"Had to cool off." He ran a hand through his hair, which was standing on end over his red headband. "Don't like driving mad."

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, but Rally and Bean didn't move. She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. "Look, I...I didn't want to cry, so I got angry instead."

"Yeah? Did it work?"

"Kind of." To Rally's chagrin, her eyes welled up.

Bean sighed and dropped his head. "You got a conscience, girl. Guess that's more good than bad." The elevator doors closed.

"Not going to let me get angry at you again, huh?" Her voice went high on the last word, and she put a hand on her mouth, fighting down the lump in her throat. "Not going to give me an opportunity to call you names?"

"You think I got no feelings about that?"

"Bean?"

He had his hand on the back of his neck, rubbing the muscles, and didn't answer. Rally stared at the top of his head until he lifted his face and met her eyes. "Is that why you were drinking?"

"Kills the sting, babe." His smile was sour.

Her stomach contracted. Bean? Feelings? He'd proposed this partnership again...why? She'd assumed it was purely mercenary. Money was all he cared about, wasn't it? The elevator doors opened and a man started to get on, then backed out after a look at Bean's scowl. But Rally moved quickly out and strode toward her car, and Bean followed.

"Now what? You don't want the Feds getting their claws on me?"

"I think I owe you that much."

"No shit."

"I'll get you out of here and tell them you're gone—hey, what are you doing?" Bean stopped at Buff and dug for his keys. Rally unlocked the Cobra's passenger door. "We're taking MY car, not yours. They have a picture of Buff. Get in."

Bean walked over and snapped his fingers for the keys. "I don't ride. I drive."

"Not my car, you don't," snarled Rally. "Especially not when you're drunk! Get the hell in and buckle your seat belt!"

Bean made a face. "Four pitchers don't take much off my reflexes."

"I don't even want to know how much you think it takes to incapacitate you!" Rally threw the passenger door open, tossed the duffel into the back and shoved Bean toward the car. He barely moved from her push, but slowly complied, ducking his head under the door frame and pulling his legs inside one at a time. Rally slammed the door on him and got into the driver's seat.

"Ain't they looking for you, too?"

"Not yet. The cops won't have contacted the Feds, and Roy just found out about Brown and Huang. The FBI lookout won't stop me from leaving again if we move fast." She jammed her key in the ignition and started up the engine, its deep growl rumbling through the garage.

"Again?"

"I went down to the pier to look for you. I was afraid you were going to try to find the money and get nabbed—or shot! The fire's out, by the way."

"Huh. Wondered why yer engine was warm. So you skipping out on the FBI deal?"

Rally shot the car backwards out of the space and angled it down the row, heading up the ramp for the exit. "What deal? It's blown. Brown never meant to give himself up."

"Guess not. So what the hell _was_ the idea?"

"I...don't know." The car emerged into the street and Rally took a left. The rain had grown heavy, the gutters running freely, but there wasn't much wind now. "It got a little chaotic, with the Dragons barging in and that huge explosion! I'm not sure anybody's plans went the way they were supposed to, not just ours."

She frowned in thought. "But you know, O'Toole had plenty of chances to kill me, and he was using a damn accurate weapon. If he was missing, it was on purpose."

"Missin' on purpose?" Bean blinked at her.

"Brown bragged about the guy's ability. And I saw the rifle—a Heckler and Koch PSG-1. It confused me at first—I hadn't expected a marksman to be using a semi-auto. Most of those aren't too accurate. _That_ monster can do 50-round groups into an 80-millimeter circle at 300 meters."

"Whatever. Pretty special, huh?"

"I'll say—it costs almost twelve thousand dollars. About par for these guys, since they have so much loose cash to throw around!"

"Yeah, cash. I wish I had my half-million. Quarter million," he amended. "Man, I must be drunk."

"I'm sorry, Bean."

"Slick operation, though. Aside from losing Brown."

"Damn, that's what's bothering me! It seemed so planned out..." She paused. They passed into the Presidio, a dark, wooded area with few buildings.

"Huh?"

"Bean! What if that was the idea?"

"If what was the idea?"

"Brown getting shot—by _me!"_

Bean looked startled. "Sorry. I ain't drunk enough for that to make sense."

"He set himself up! Look, it follows!" She gestured wildly with one hand on the wheel. "He wasn't armed. He showed us the money to get us confident and he kept his mouth clean, mostly. When you left the room—who knows, he might have hinted to those old guys to come and meet you—he started saying things to piss me off."

"No foolin'."

"And then when the window was shot out, he stood right there and practically begged me to drill him! He made me watch the fight you had with the mercenaries and he called me a whore—if he hadn't been crippled and unarmed, I WOULD have shot him! And all that stuff about killing May and Roy too—just taunting me! Dammit, Bean, he was trying to get me to shoot at him!"

Rally yanked the wheel to the right to enter a driveway by a park sign. She passed a line of trees and continued into an empty, lighted parking lot. Slamming on the brakes, she jolted both of them. The Cobra came to a stop at the end of the lot and she turned off the ignition. They sat on a low cliff overlooking a darkened beach, the surf a distant pale line wavering in the gloom.

"What the hell would he do that for?"

"I...I don't know." Rally glanced around and chewed her lips. "It didn't look like he had a bulletproof vest on, though he could have had some kind of custom-made armor over his vital spots. He must have known I was an accurate shot. Maybe I was supposed to shoot him so he could fake his death..."

"Just to make you look bad or somethin'? Or get away from the Dragons? Seems kinda risky." Bean rubbed his eyes, which didn't seem to be focusing well. "Maybe he ain't dead after all."

Rally put a hand over her mouth. "You heard him. God, those screams..."

"Yeah, you're right. Lucky for Huang he was already dead 'fore he was toasted. I didn't have to heave him out the window to make sure he was a goner. Wish I had, though! Why didn't you let me?" Bean made a whistling sound as he indicated a trajectory with one finger, then stuck out his tongue with a splatting noise and made a wide gesture with both hands. He laughed drunkenly.

Rally shuddered. She saw the young man's stricken face again. "He was a human being! A person, with a family and friends...someone must have loved him." Rally put her head down on the steering wheel. "I killed him..." The tears were about to come. She couldn't stop them. "I've killed crooks before. But not like that. Wounded, helpless..."

"So what now?"

"Oh, damn, Bean, we have to find O'Toole! He's got your money, but my reputation..."

"What's the big deal about your rep? Ain't you just gonna sweet-talk the cops anyway?"

"I don't think so. Roy was so angry with me..." She gripped the steering wheel. "The FBI's going over the scene by now. I've been in trouble before. But I hadn't killed anyone with a gun registered to the SFPD. And I hadn't gotten on the bad side of an FBI sting. What Roy thinks of me isn't going to matter if the Feds decide to arrest me for obstruction..."

"Then I'd better get clear before they do."

"What! You're just going to skip and leave me to face it alone?"

"What the hell else can I do?"

"Can't you tell them what you know? Can't you tell them I didn't mean to shoot an unarmed man?"

"I don't know that." Bean shrugged, his expression sullen. "I know that isn't something I'd expect to see you doin'. But there's always a first time, babe."

"Thanks a hell of a lot! I shot through that wall because I thought O'Toole was about to shoot _you_ and I didn't figure he was going to miss! Even you can't ignore a .308 round through the cranium!"

"I never saw a guy with a rifle indoors."

"O'Toole! He's the one who shot out the window! I had to get out of that office while he was skimming slugs right over my head. You got that crease on your skull from his rifle!"

"Sure I did. But I couldn't see the guy shooting and I wasn't anywhere near when you whacked Huang. Look, girl—" Bean grabbed the top of her seat and turned to face her. "I could tell the Feds everything I know about this deal, everything I know about you, including the color of your—yeah, well. It wouldn't cut no ice with no Federal prosecutor. _I ain't an eyewitness,_ and that's all she wrote."

"So you're going to let them hang me? You won't help me?"

"I'll get my ass busted if I do, and it won't do you any good anyhow. What's the point?"

"You goddamn...iceberg...Bean!" Rally cried. "Won't you stick out your neck for anyone?" She buried her face in her arms against the steering wheel.

Several minutes of silence followed, broken only by her agonized sobs and the rain on the windshield. Bean sat still in the passenger seat, arms folded over his chest. He let out a deep huffing breath once in a while. Rally gradually subsided and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Bean dropped his bandanna in her reach and she cleaned herself up, mascara and purple eyeshadow smearing.

"You're a bastard, Bean, you know that?" She blew her nose.

"I do what I gotta do to survive, babe. So do you."

"Don't make me out the same as you. I care about what's right, not just the damn money..."

"Do we gotta take that road again? Lemme out, I'll walk." Rally burst into tears again. Bean sighed irritably. "It's too damp in here for me, babe. Catch you later." He opened the passenger door and let in a sheet of rain.

Rally felt her stomach wrench at the thought of sitting alone in the dark. The distant surf surged and crashed, a whisper of chaos on the periphery of her vision. A pale line, almost alive in its motion. "Bean—no, please. Stay here with me..." she whispered through tears, and reached out.

"Huh?" He stopped as her hand touched him.

"Oh, God, I killed a man. I killed him and he's dead, he's burned to death..."

"You thinkin' about ghosts, girl?" Bean put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm.

"No! I'm not a murderer! Please tell me I'm not a murderer..." He was warm and massive, his body shifting in the seat as it creaked under his weight. He had substance. He was the direct opposite of disembodied chill or invisible wrath...

"Aw, I never said you were." He patted her shoulder. Rally buried her face against the side of his chest, feeling the coolness of his thick leather jacket. Bean sat still for a moment, then moved and dislodged her. "Uh...I got business to transact. See you."

"You've got business with me, Bean. Unfinished business."

"Sure I do. Half a million dollars' worth. But it ain't going to wash up on the beach while I'm sittin' here."

"Not that kind. It was..." she gulped— "it was the answer to a question."

"What answer?"

"'Yes.'"

"Huh?"

"The question was, 'You want to do it?'"

"Yeah, right. What a load of laughs that was." Bean shook off her hand and put one foot out of the car, but Rally put a hand on his chest and aimed for his mouth. When her lips touched his, his muscles tensed and hardened. "No way, girl. I am not falling for that one again." She reached up and kissed him, feeling his resistance. His lips were tight and ungiving against hers, his spine rigid. But he didn't move away.

She drew back in a moment to meet his razor glare. Bean sat up and brushed her off to grab the door handle again.

"Please, Bean! Don't leave me alone right now!"

"You don't need me. You just told me that, flat out." He rubbed two fingers across his mouth with his face turned away from her. "Why kiss me?"

"I—I'm asking you to have sex with me. I need to feel something other than what I'm feeling now..." She wrapped her arms around herself, digging her fingernails into her skin.

"I am not the right man for this job, Vincent. Get someone else. Pretty Larry'll fall all over himself to oblige."

"I want you, not someone else! You were there. You saw what I had to do!"

"Yeah, and gunfire doesn't get my wheels moving the way it does yours."

"That's disgusting! How can you think that I—"

"What the hell do you want to do it for?" His shoulders hunched up in a defensive barrier. "You just want your cherry popped?"

"No! I just—damn it, Bean! Don't make me talk!" Rally sobbed. "I feel like my skin's roasting off! I just want to be reminded I'm still a human being..."

"How is me fucking you going to remind you of anything?"

"Shut up!" Rally grabbed the front of Bean's jacket and the knot of his headband to yank his head around. She rose to her knees on the seat and slammed her mouth against his with bruising force. Pain shot along all her nerves, crackling in her chest and the joints of her jaw.

Bean grunted and took her upper arms, starting to push her away. She kissed him desperately and bit at his lips. He jerked back, his expression angry, but his scowl faded as he looked at her. Rally trembled in his grasp, her eyes brimming. Her nervous tension suddenly gone, her head sagged on her limp neck. Bean's hands gripped her; he found her gaze and held it. Something behind those sharp eyes, the hard wall of his features. She had seen that look before somewhere…

"Aw, hell." An odd grimace crossed his face.

With a slow, enveloping movement, Bean embraced her. Her face slid across seamed leather, his arms wrapped and settled heavily around her, his chin came down on the top of her head and he rocked back to hold her cradled against his chest. Very dimly, through layers of tanned moose hide and ballistic nylon and hard ceramic plates, his heart beat under her cheek.

Rally curled her hands under her chin and closed her eyes, crying silently. Bean's hands stroked her back and upper arms. Gradually she subsided and lay back in Bean's embrace, finally looking up into his face as he held her.

His expression unsettled, he examined her for a minute, then bent down and kissed her. Softly, reassuringly. He reached over and closed the car door with a solid _thunk, _shutting out the rain.

"I'm here, babe," he said at last. "Any way you want it."

THE REST OF THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED FOR THIS SITE. You can find the complete story on my Livejournal. My username is madame(underscore)manga. Sorry.  



	9. Chapter 9

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Nine**

"You...lying...bitch." Bean's hands hung limp at his sides, his face so dazed he looked as if he'd been slugged in the back of the head by a giant's fist.

"Bean—"

He closed his eyes with his teeth set, then flung his head back and rolled it down as if trying to jolt the sight out of his brain. "Why? I never did you wrong. _Why?"_ Rough, shaking, his voice betraying more pain than she had ever imagined he could feel. Rain speckled the greenbacks under the parking lot lights.

"Bean, I didn't put it there. I didn't know it was there!"

"Bullshit."

"It has to be a plant!"

"You told me no one could tamper with that lock." He finally moved, grabbing her jacket front in one fist but not pulling her towards him. "And why the hell would anyone _give_ you half a million? It's all here."

"I don't know! _I don't know!_ For God's sake, Bean—"

"Same damn suitcase, same money." An awful change went through him, his eyes scanning wildly back and forth. "You must've shot Huang so he wouldn't squeal to me about it!"

"Bean! STOP IT!"

"Tried to get me to leave without you! Called me names to get me out of the way when I stuck to you!" His face twisted in a mixture of anger and agony, his pupils contracting to dots in spite of the darkness.

"You bastard! How can you think I—"

"Shut up!" Bean wrenched the jacket tighter. "Drove back to the pier, huh? Yeah, and you sweet-talked your way past the cops while I was cryin' in my beer like a damn fool. You fetched it from wherever the hell you'd hid it and stashed it in your car. And then you fetched me along too, 'cause I still had something you wanted a piece of! My big...stupid...ASS!"

Rally seized his wrist in both hands, trying desperately to loosen her collar, clinging to him as she wheezed out the words. "The FBI was waiting for you! I had to get you out—"

"Just couldn't rest till you'd screwed me every possible way there is to screw me, huh?" He let her go with a stumbling shove and slammed the suitcase shut. "Cryin' like that to get me to melt?" Bean doubled over and pushed away from the roof of the car. His fists slammed against the window header and he bowed in front of the suitcase. His gaze swept the car interior through the rain-streaked windows. "What the hell were you thinkin' in there? _'Now I've got him by the balls? Now I can fool him so bad he'll give me every damn thing I want and never ask another question?'" _

He straightened and pounded one fist into the roof next to the suitcase, inflicting a deep dent, his voice so hoarse and raw it tore into her ears. "IS THAT WHAT WAS ON YOUR MIND IN THERE?"

"No. Noooo..."

"Guess I spotted you right the first time." Bean turned his head, his teeth gritted in an ugly smile. He didn't look above her breasts. "'Least now I know why you'd spread yer legs for an animal like me, _Rally darlin'._ You just come a little more expensive than the gals that work the street. Half a million bucks a screw, hey?"

Another collision. Another crash landing, and this time the damage was beyond all estimate. "You...filthy...bastard. How DARE you talk to me like that?"

"You don't give a shit what I think of you. Save the righteousness." He yanked the suitcase off the roof, scraping the paint. "I'm taking this, Vincent. Every red cent of it. You lied to me."

"Stop!" Rally drew her CZ75.

Bean looked down its barrel, blinking from the rain hitting his face. "Gonna shoot me for real this time, huh? See if it does you any good." His expression was calm, but then his upper lip curled back from his teeth. Rally shivered, the pistol steady.

"Go on." Bean smiled at the CZ75 like a pit bull. "If you put it square between the eyes, you might take me down before I can get to ya. Or you might not."

He was right. Nothing but a head shot would have any effect on him at all. She could not cripple, only kill.

He'd made a mistake. A terrible one, and he'd compounded it nearly to the worst extent of his harshest, cruelest, crudest nature. Could she kill him for that? For a mistake? The lingering wetness in her groin felt cold and sticky, her swollen vulva pulsing, her bruised lips sore.

Bean finally looked her in the face, and she could barely recognize the man who had just finished fucking her—no, making love to her, she acknowledged to herself with something like nausea. He had been so passionate, but so considerate of her inexperience. She had felt so cherished, so alive and human in his arms...

Could she blow off the back of his head with a nine-millimeter slug, topple him twitching to the ground, watch his life seep out over wet black asphalt? For the sake of half a million dollars? The look in Bean's eyes was alien, close to evil, but Rally felt a draining surge of peace. She tipped the muzzle skywards, her mind emptied of violence.

"I ought to snap your neck." Bean turned away. "But if I was gonna do it, I guess I'd'a done it by now."

"Bean, that's drug money. You promised not to take drug jobs!"

"You can forget about that promise, babe. You just canceled it out, but good. And stay out of my way." He whipped his bowie knife out of his jacket and stabbed it into her left rear tire, then yanked it out and held it in front of her eyes. "You interfere with me one more time, you murdering whore, and I'm warning you, you will never do it again."

He put the knife away and turned to look at her for a moment, his hair dripping with rainwater that ran down his face like tears. "I ain't got it in me to kill you right now. But that is not going to last." He adjusted his crotch with a brutal sneer, wheeled and stalked off into the misty darkness.

* * *

"What happened? Someone shot the hell out of the place, that's what. Drive-by with a couple of full-auto choppers, maybe M60s." The policeman held up a long, necked-down brass cartridge casing, its shiny surface reflecting the streetlights and the surrounding neon signs of the neighborhood shopping strip around the Eight Dragon Delight. "See that? That's a—" 

"A 7.62mm. Those bastards..." Inside the yellow crime scene tape lay dozens more, an evidence photographer stepping carefully around them as he lined up his shots. "When?"

"Almost an hour ago. Right after one A.M. Lucky it was after closing time, so there weren't a lot of customers. Only one guy bit it at the scene. Took two ambulances to clear out the casualties, though. Man, it's a busy shift for a Tuesday night—y'know, there was this bomb down on—"

"Where...where's the manager? Larry Sam."

"Dunno who the manager is. That old guy, his name is Sam." Rally looked over to see a weeping man sitting on the curb, his wrinkled cheeks streaked with tears. Her heart contracted. With hesitating steps, she approached him and bent down.

"Excuse me, sir...Mr. Sam?" He peered up at her, his bowed head grey and crew-cut. "I came here to talk to your son. Larry. I'm so sorry about this..."

He wiped his hand on his chef's apron and held it out to her. "Rally Vincent. I rememba you. You like ribs?"

Rally nearly doubled over in anguish. "Yes. Please, I don't want to bother you...but can you tell me where Larry is?"

Mr. Sam burst into tears again. "Ambahlance. Parahmedics..."

"Thank you. I'm so sorry." She touched the old man's shoulder and turned towards the shattered door. Larry would have been standing right there behind the host desk, or maybe helping to bus dishes, or at the register. Clearly visible through the sparkling glass windows, their remnants now crunching under her feet as she crossed the sidewalk. The frames and the walls inside had been chewed full of ragged holes and blood stained the floor in several places.

"Lady, if you're a reporter, wait outside," said a young blue-jeaned Chinese woman with a furious expression. "Get your statement from the cops and get out of my way!" She elbowed Rally aside and went into the restaurant with a large camping cooler.

"I'm a friend..." said Rally. "I came here looking for Larry."

The young woman turned around and stared at her. "Are you Rally Vincent? The bounty hunter he told me about?"

"Yes. Are you...?"

"I'm Vanessa. His oldest younger sister." She headed towards the swinging doors to the kitchen and stopped abruptly when they opened, bumping into her cooler.

"Hey," said a police detective, emerging from the kitchen. "Stay off the scene, ma'am. That tape's there for a reason—"

"Yeah, well, the cooler's here for a reason too!" Vanessa Sam shouted at him. "I'm not going to let all that food rot in the refrigerators while the power's out! Fifty pounds of tiger prawns in the shell don't come cheap, buddy!"

"You can't remove anything from the scene!"

"Food's not evidence! Do you know there are people starving right on your doorstep, you armed storm trooper for the repressive oligarchy?"

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Vanessa Sam dropped the cooler to the floor and sat emphatically on its lid, her expression daring him to do anything about it.

"Excuse me," said Rally, mustering as much of a smile as she could manage. "Detective, could I talk to you for a minute? My name's Rally Vincent, and I might have some leads for you on this case..."

"No fooling? Hey, someone said you were in town!" The detective came over and pumped her hand, then looked more closely at her outfit. "Uhh...you been having a busy night or something?"

"Yeah...something." She looked over his shoulder at Vanessa Sam and jerked her chin at the kitchen door. Vanessa raised her brows—she had a distinct resemblance to Larry, though her wire-rimmed glasses and cropped haircut didn't flatter her face—and she got off the cooler, picked it up and backed through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

"I've been working with the restaurant manager here. He gave me some information on a Chinese syndicate called the Eight Dragon Triad. I...I think they got wind of that, and that's why they shot the place up."

"No fooling? Hey, I gotta call this in, Ms. Vincent. Excuse me a moment."

"Sure," murmured Rally, and slipped under the tape as soon as his back was turned. In the kitchen, Vanessa was taking boxes off the shelves of a large commercial refrigerator and packing them into her cooler. A portable construction site light stood on the floor, lighting the room in a hard white glow. A half-cooked batch of cashew chicken lay congealing in a wok, and utensils and stainless-steel basins were scattered across counters, stove and chopping blocks.

Someone had spilled and trampled a box of fortune cookies on the floor; the yellow crumbs spread over the black rubber floor mats like broken flower petals.

"Oh, hi. Thanks." Vanessa pushed hard on the top of a box of frozen prawns. "Darn, I'll never get half of it in here. I should have brought a truck."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"The expensive stuff...well, I was going to put it in my apartment freezer to save it, but I doubt the restaurant will be reopening soon. They shut the power and the gas off to the whole building because of the damage from the bullets. I'll stock up at home and take the rest to the Berkeley People's Cooperative Food Bank, I guess...Larry's going to yell at me, the capitalist pig, but what the hell." She put in another box of frozen prawns and stomped it down with her foot.

"Have you seen Larry? How is he?"

"I went to the hospital first thing when Mom called. She's there now. Larry's in surgery." She took off her glasses and wiped them. "He got a bullet through his chest..." Vanessa burst into tears, and Rally impulsively hugged her. Vanessa's arms went around her and she cried for a few moments into Rally's cleavage, then straightened up. "Sorry." She wiped her nose on a kitchen towel and stomped on the box of frozen prawns again.

"I'm so sorry about this. I...I'm afraid I might have had something to do with it..."

"Larry said he'd gotten a tape of some Eight Dragon Triad guys. I told him he was nuts and I was going to come over and rip all those stupid mikes off the tables unless he promised to quit trying to be Steven Seagal. What are the damn cops for, anyway?" Tears dripped down her nose.

"Well...sometimes it takes more than just cops. Your brother's a brave man, Vanessa. He helped me out a lot, and I'm grateful. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"No. Not really." She paused and picked up the cooler. "I'm going to take Dad to the hospital now. Then I guess I'll take Mom and Dad home with me, because they sure can't sleep here. I'll just kick my roommate and her stupid boyfriend out for a few days."

"Oh. Could you...could you let me know how Larry is doing, and when I can see him?" She took a card from her purse and tried to give it to Vanessa, whose hands were full.

"Put it in my shirt pocket." Vanessa headed out into the dining room, and Rally lifted the tape for her to pass through to the sidewalk. "Yeah, I'll call you if I remember. I have the feeling I'm going to be busy for a few days." She put the cooler down behind a battered 1960s Plymouth station wagon, the bumpers covered with anti-war stickers. "But I'll try to remember. Dad!" she called. "Come on with me!"

"Thank you." Rally turned towards her Cobra.

"Just a sec," said Vanessa, helping her father into the passenger seat of her station wagon. "Larry said something to me just before they wheeled him into the operating room. He was conscious for a minute, and he said your name."

"Yes?"

"He said, 'Rally—Minced squab.' You have any idea what he meant by that?"

"No. No, I don't. It's a dish you serve here, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's minced breast of pigeon wrapped in lettuce leaves. Dad's speciality. Kind of expensive."

"Pigeon..." Rally closed her eyes. A cartridge case rang under her foot. "Chopped stool pigeon, Chinese style."

* * *

Another beach, this one long and straight, running north and south at the western edge of the city. She had parked in a lot that sat on top of a seawall and looked out over the grey Pacific Ocean. Dawn, almost. The pale glow of emerging sun rose behind her, shadowed by the ranks of townhouses that lined the street across from the beach. Rally's mind felt as grey as the ocean, her thoughts dulled by the night's emotional firestorm. The streets were still wet from the night's storm, but it wasn't raining any more, though the sky was overcast. She wouldn't see a sunrise today. 

"Rally...I'm sorry I flew off the handle." Roy sounded weary. "I called my wife, even though it was three A.M. in Chicago. She talked some sense into me. I apologize."

"It's OK, Roy," said Rally quietly into her cell phone. "You weren't really all that angry. Not compared to some people..."

"The FBI's another matter, kid. Smith is steaming."

"Oh, God."

"The lookout at the Sandpiper Inn saw you leave, but he thought you had Brown and were taking him in. Otherwise you would have had a pursuit on your tail."

"That's what I thought."

"There are two agents in the garage keeping a watch on Bean's car. Did you find out where he went?"

"I don't know where he is now." Rally's shoulders sagged. "Roy, please don't kill me. I took him out of the garage in my car."

"Oh, for the love of... Why?"

"Because I thought I owed it to him." She rubbed her temples. "B-but there's something I need to tell you, about the suitcase with the money..."

"You are going to have to tell it to the FBI, Rally. Everything."

"But—!"

"Unless you want a warrant to go out for your arrest. It's a good thing you finally called me back, though you almost left it too long. Come in for questioning, and I mean NOW, or there will be nothing I can do for you."

Something clicked on the line and another voice broke in. "Miss Vincent, this is Agent Smith. Come back to the Sandpiper Inn and leave your car in the garage. Agent Wesson is there to pick you up."

"Yes, sir," she whispered. "I'm on the other side of the city. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

* * *

"Detective Coleman is with Agent Smith." Agent Wesson pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and pointed at a hard chair in front of his desk. "He's giving his side of the story. I do hope, for both your sakes, that it's going to match yours." He sat down in his own chair and laced his fingers together. About thirty-eight or nine, he was trim and brown-haired, his white dress shirt and conservative tie matching his short cut and clean-shaven face. 

"I didn't tell him everything, sir. If you think he's left something out, it's my fault. Please—"

"Detective Coleman's fate is not your concern, Ms. Vincent. I am not interested in hearing your defense of him."

"...Oh."

"My senior partner and I have been working Sylvester Brown for seven months now." Wesson gazed at his hands. "We had been looking for a wedge into the Eight Dragon Triad for a year, and finally he contacted us to negotiate. He was slippery as an eel and we dangled the bait and played the line for a very long time. He shuttled between Los Angeles and San Francisco at least once a week, and so did we. I'm so sick of airline coffee I feel like puking at the mere suggestion. Seven months of care and patience, and you shot it in the leg and let it burn to death eight hours ago. Do you understand me, Ms. Vincent?"

"Yes."

"When Detective Coleman's call got forwarded to me, we weren't too happy about it, to put it very, very mildly. We thought Brown was getting ready to jump. We'd been encouraging him to do so for a long time. But we thought he was going to do it in Los Angeles after some careful planning, and we had no _fucking_ idea he was going to drag a Chicago bounty hunter into it. It still makes no sense to me that he did. You have any idea why?"

"No..."

Wesson waited for a long moment, putting his locked hands on the desk. "I want some cooperation here, Ms. Vincent. I don't want monosyllables. I want full answers with every damn detail included, no matter how bad you think it makes you look and no matter what you think the implications are for anyone, including Coleman."

He took off his glasses and glared at her with cold grey eyes. "I want total, perfect honesty. I am a Federal law enforcement officer with the full power of the Justice Department behind me, as you are well aware, and I could simply read you your rights and arrest you on suspicion of murder, conspiracy and obstruction of justice. That will pull you a life sentence, of which you will serve at least twenty-five or thirty years if I have anything to say about it. You might get out when your hair's gone white, assuming you're still in one piece. How would you like it in the pen? You could renew some acquaintances you've made in the course of your illustrious career."

Rally's hands trembled on the arms of her chair. "I'll cooperate. You don't need to threaten me like that."

"That's what I want to hear. Keep in mind that I have other sources of intelligence. This conversation is being recorded and I will be cross-checking everything you tell me, so keep it right on the centerline." He opened his briefcase and put a file folder down on the desk between them.

"I understand."

"Why did you go after Sylvester Brown? You gave us the impression that he called you out of the blue."

"I didn't set out to do it. I went after Bean. Bean Bandit. Has Roy told you—?"

"I know of Mr. Bandit. Brown mentioned him in general terms—as an ace driver based in Chicago—and the Bureau already has a file going on his activities, though it didn't have a name on it until yesterday. Agent Smith is more familiar with that file than I am, but I know that Bandit was your mystery partner on this job. Did you follow him out from Chicago?"

"No. I was on vacation in California, and we spotted him—me and my partner May Hopkins. I went after him because I thought he might be running drugs again."

"Again?"

"He stopped...he had stopped. We had a bet that I won, and he promised to stay away from drug jobs."

"So you consort with a criminal? On good enough terms that he'll give up lucrative work for your sake?"

"I don't CONSORT with him—!"

"But you teamed up with him to pick up Brown."

"Uh...yes. But it was temporary!"

"Was it? That promise is still in force?"

"No." She fought to keep her expression composed. "He told me that it was off."

"So the Dragons persuaded him to work for them after all? Hmm..." Wesson leaned back and tapped the earpiece of his glasses on his teeth.

"No, that's not it. He would never work for them. He despised Brown and he said that the Dragons could kiss his...ass."

Wesson leaned forward and opened another folder, a thick black one. "He has the reputation of working for anyone if the price is right." He extracted a business card and held it up. "Here we go. 'Professional Courier and Driver. Passenger or Cargo. Ten Years in Business, Never Lost a Load. Anything, Anyone, Anywhere, Anytime. Certain Restrictions Apply—Call for Rates.' How carefully legal. You are sure he had stopped running drugs?"

"Yes. I know he had."

"Detective Coleman told us something else. He's taken jobs from old enemies before. Specifically, the Detroit gangster known as 'Gray'. Whom, incidentally, you shot some time ago."

"Yes, I killed Gray. He was about to kill Bean."

"Really. You two seem to do a lot for each other's sake." He put his glasses on again and flipped through the folder for a moment. "Are you Bandit's lover?"

"Huh?"

He glanced up over his metal frames, his grey eyes hard. "Complete honesty, Ms. Vincent."

"I...I..." She blushed scarlet.

Wesson sighed irritably. "This isn't prurient interest on my part. I need to know what influences can be brought to bear on this man."

"Oh, God..." She put her head down. "I have had sex with him. But I am not his lover."

"Excuse me?"

"He won't listen to me. I can't influence him at all, unless it's to kill me the next time he sees me."

"You've saved his life, you assisted him to escape from us, you've slept with him, and he wants to _kill_ you?"

"He thinks I tried to steal money from him. Five hundred thousand dollars of Dragon cash."

"What?"

"It was Brown's payoff to him. Brown tricked him into making a drug run. Bean wanted compensation, but Brown tried to kill him instead. That's why we teamed up. Bean needed some firepower on his side, and I wanted to take Brown in for the FBI reward."

"Great. We never thought anyone was going to get a chance to collect."

"Why not?" Rally asked. Wesson lowered his brows. "I know, you are the one asking the questions here. But I really don't have any idea why he pulled me into this. He claimed it was because he was afraid of Bean and thought I could help, but obviously that was only bait! If you tell me more about this situation, maybe I can figure out what you want to know!"

He looked at her for a moment, then quirked his mouth. "Oh, it was a little too clever. That reward was only a diversionary tactic. He'd approached us months ago, offering information in return for a witness-protection deal for his family. He never gave us much besides promises. We needed to gain some time for him in the Triad, so we tried to make it look as if we thought he was a pivotal figure and wanted to arrest him. With his bodyguard around, he wasn't exactly vulnerable. We thought."

"Was he pivotal?"

"Frankly, I'm not sure how close he was to the heart of the matter. He talked a good game. But he was not even part Asian and we recently found out he had no Triad number."

"Oh, one of those divisible-by-three numerology codes?"

"You've been reading up on this, I see."

"I got that from Larry Sam."

Wesson gave a mirthless chortle. "Who is the man whose restaurant was shot to pieces last night shortly after you left the Dragon pier. Brown dead, our operation blown and Mr. Sam in the hospital. What a lucky charm you are."

"You think I don't care about who's been hurt?" Rally leaped from her chair. "You think I don't know this whole mess is on my shoulders and it isn't going to go away? Bean thinks I tried to steal half a million dollars from him! He said he would kill me and I know he isn't joking! Even if you let me go and gave me a goddamn medal for what I tried to do, I've got a death sentence hanging over me! Yes, he had sex with me, but that doesn't make an cent's worth of difference to him! He'll snap my neck the next time I get in his way!"

Wesson looked her up and down, eyes evaluating the lines of her face and figure. "That's the kind of value he puts on money?"

"That's right."

"Well, I won't be suffering any qualms about _him_, will I...?" Wesson let out a long disgusted breath.

"Qualms...?"

Wesson frowned. "Where is he now?"

"I don't know. He left me at Baker's Beach, carrying the money. I assume he's stolen a car and left the area by now."

"Stolen a car, hmm?" Wesson picked up a phone and spoke into it. "I'll contact the SFPD," he said to her. "Not that grand theft auto always get reported in a timely fashion, but it's worth a shot. Speaking of which..."

"You want to know how Brown and Huang died." She sat down again.

"Exactly."

Rally swallowed hard. "It all went the way it was planned, until some other Triad men showed up. Two leaders, and the chief assassin, plus a couple of young assistants. Huang and a guy named Wo. They all went off into another room with Bean, and Brown talked to me. He seems to have been trying to get me angry. Then—"

"Yes?"

"He signaled to O'Toole. You know—"

"His bodyguard, Fearghus Martin, who has gone by 'Thomas O'Toole' ever since he escaped from the Maze in 1987. Convicted on explosives charges in 1983. He's been with Brown for ten years and worships the ground he walks on."

"So he _is_ former PIRA?"

"Yes. But the Provos kicked him out before he went to prison, for conduct unbecoming. Rape, to be precise. Seems he left several prostitutes and bar girls in ditches around Londonderry, beaten half to death and permanently maimed. He was never tried for those crimes, however. They had to keep him in solitary, because his former comrades tried to rectify the omission."

Rally shivered. Those hot yellow eyes over the barrel of a gun...

"Something?"

"No...uh, O'Toole shot out the window of the office and pinned me in there for a minute. Bean and Huang tried to interfere and O'Toole fired at them. Bean only got a crease. I think Huang was gut-shot. Bean ran to get O'Toole, but Brown showed me a surveillance camera view of a bunch of his thugs dumping Bean in the bay. I got out and evaded O'Toole for a while, but he got the drop on me. Bean came bursting in when he got out of the water—I'm still not sure how—and I moved out of O'Toole's reach. Then I thought I saw him aim at Bean. I shot...I shot at what I saw. It turned out to be Brown, and one bullet apparently killed Huang."

"It turned out to be Brown. Holy _crap."_ Wesson slammed a folder down on the desk. "What the hell did you see to shoot at?"

"A shadow through the glass wall of the office. I saw someone draw a bead on Bean, and I thought it was O'Toole. Brown's right hand was half gone. He couldn't have fired a gun. I shot four rounds through the wall and I crippled him, but I swear to _God_ I was sure it was O'Toole!"

"Something does not compute here. Brown wasn't stupid. He would not have pulled you into his defection on a whim, and he and O'Toole would NOT have let him get accidentally shot by a _twenty-one-year-old tootsie who calls herself a bounty hunter!" _Rally jammed her lips together to keep from uttering a retort. "This stinks, and frankly, your story stinks. I'm beginning to believe—"

"But I don't think it was completely an accident, either! I think he meant to get shot. Maybe not in the leg like that, since it meant he couldn't escape, but for some reason he wanted a bullet of mine to…" She trailed off. "Oh, my God."

"What?"

"I…don't know." A idea was forming, but it seemed so peculiar that she didn't want it to see the light of day yet. "It's just strange. I heard O'Toole talking about doing something himself if necessary, and Brown saying he couldn't ask that of him. I wonder if he meant—" She broke off. "I'm sorry, I can't make it out yet."

"Goddammit." Wesson leaned back and rubbed his temples. "We will get to the bottom of this, Ms. Vincent. If you are holding anything back, I am going to find out what it is, make no mistake. Start talking right fucking now."

"I've answered every question you've asked me!"

"You're leaving something out!"

"But how do I know...oh." She looked wildly around. "Bean. Bean is the key, isn't he? Brown talked my ear off about Bean, all along. He wanted to know everything about my relationship with him. He got me to tell him about the bet..."

"He did?" Wesson sat forward. "Of course, he wanted to recruit him for drug running. He didn't know that Bean had promised you not to take drug jobs. Until you told him, that is."

"O'Toole knows too—he listened in while I talked to Brown in the office, and so I'm sure he heard when I told Brown about the bet. I don't know about Manichetti, but he might have been listening as well just to keep tabs on what was happening."

"Brown's driver? What was he doing during all this?"

"He was there briefly and then he left."

"To go where?"

"I have no idea. But it must have been to do something important...I thought he must have been waiting with a car."

Wesson tapped his fingertips on the desktop. "How did you get the money? Why did Bean think you were trying to steal it?"

"He found it in my car, in the trunk, after we left the hotel. I was as surprised as he was. Brown had showed it to us in his office since he was supposed to bring it along for Bean. After I shot him, it was gone, but the suitcase it had been in was still there. Bean tore the place apart looking for the cash."

"I was at the scene earlier this morning. It looked like a tornado had hit in there."

"It did. He was furious. Wasn't the office all burned?"

"No, it was fairly intact, as far as that goes. Huang's body wasn't particularly damaged, so there won't be any problems with the autopsy, I'm told, which I'm sure you'll be glad to hear."

"Wonderful. But…what about Brown?" Rally's surprise had a sickening edge to it. "He was at the bay end of the warehouse, farthest from the fire. The offices are only halfway down, and if they're not burned...he was screaming…he was telling me the fire was right on him. The windows were all red…" She felt her gorge rise.

"O'Toole apparently used an accelerant on the walls, and that burned off rapidly all the way down the warehouse, but the wood is damp—that pier has been sitting over the water for eighty years—and didn't catch quickly. There wasn't a lot of structural damage, except to the front facade and the roof. The walls are charred on the surface, but not destroyed. The offices were built only a few years ago, and are mostly steel and glass. There wasn't much that would burn in there that was exposed to the fire."

"Oh. Is…is the autopsy being done on him now? Brown, I mean."

"They haven't found his body yet."

"Huh?"

"A big section of the roof fell in where it was weakened by the explosion. That's causing problems."

"But the explosion was at the front. It knocked me into the room, and it blew Bean off the—"

Wesson made an impatient gesture. "Ms. Vincent, these details are all very interesting to you, I gather, but they are beside the point. How, exactly, did you get that cash?"

"You think I stole it too? I guess since the offices aren't burned, no one's going to believe that I didn't go back and find it and pack it into that blasted suitcase again and hide it in my car! Two cops saw me at the pier! At least the FBI isn't going to hold a knife under my nose and call me a—"

"We don't yet know what we are going to call you, Ms. Vincent. The cash?"

"Well…the cash was gone and I thought O'Toole must have taken it with him. My Cobra was in the hotel garage all the time and I guess the money was planted sometime after that...there wasn't a big interval when it could have been done. It was the same suitcase we left empty in the office…or looked like it. The handle had been shot off."

"Planted in your car. Why?"

Rally's stomach twisted. _Why? I never did you wrong. Why?_

"No theories?"

"Obviously...to make it look like I'd stolen it...to have Bean find it. Oh, my God—if…if we hadn't just finished making—" She put her hand over her mouth.

"Yes?"

"Um…under most circumstances, Bean probably would have tried to kill me then and there, and I would have had to shoot him. He—he's very strong, and I've seen him take hits that would have killed anyone else. Even if I shot him in the head, it's very possible he wouldn't lose consciousness, not right away, and it wouldn't take him more than a moment to…" She swallowed hard. "I think Brown must have figured it like that. It was to get us both out of the way if all else failed, but he could have sold it to the Dragons as a way to recruit Bean. It might even end up working…"

Wesson's right eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing.

"Manichetti left long before Brown showed me the suitcase and didn't come back, so it couldn't have been him. It must have been O'Toole, but he was injured and bloody and jumped into that filthy bay. He wouldn't have had much time to clean up. Someone would have noticed him coming in to the garage."

Wesson picked up his phone again. "Desk clerk. Or anyone parking at that time of night." He spoke low and rapidly, then hung up. His fax machine began to chatter. The door opened and Smith walked in with a scowl on his blunt face. "Finished with Coleman, sir?"

"Yeah, for now." Smith grabbed the other chair with a glance at Rally. "I'm here to compare notes." He shoved a binder across the desk to Wesson, who scanned the open page and gave a short noncommittal grunt. "What a heap of dogshit this is turning out to be." He sneered at Rally's outfit and rummaged in his jacket. "Got a smoke, Bob?" Wesson opened a desk drawer and tossed Smith a open pack of Newports. Smith pulled one out and looked askance at it. "Aw, Christ, these are stale."

"I haven't bought any in months."

"What did you go quitting on me for? Where's a guy going to bum a cigarette if he can't get it off his co-workers?"

"I suddenly acquired a distaste for mood-altering substances," said Wesson, reading the binder. Smith lit the cigarette with a Bic lighter and drew in a deep drag, putting one ankle on the opposite knee. Older than Wesson, he was probably in his middle fifties. He sported a grizzled buzzcut and thick workman's hands, a drill sergeant in a sport coat.

"This drug crap." Smith blew out a ring of smoke. "Frankly, it's the DEA's problem and it should have stayed that way. All we do is step on each other's fucking toes. They arrested another undercover agent by mistake down in Miami yesterday. Crock of shit, if you ask me. The Bureau wasn't founded for this kind of junk. Why, back in Hoover's day—"

"No." Wesson pulled out the fax and looked at it. "You spent all your time on car theft stats instead. And it was against the rules to drink coffee or smoke at your desk."

"Yeah, and we kept our damn noses clean, too. Drugs are bad news for everyone who touches 'em, and that includes cops." He took another deep drag and Rally coughed. "Oh, you don't like tobacco, miss? Sorry." He smiled and flicked his ashes into a coffee cup on the desk. "This tastes like coffin sawdust, Bob."

"I know. Makes them easy to resist." Wesson slapped the fax down. "All of these were stolen before midnight. We're going to have to wait until later in the day." He looked at Rally. "Any thoughts on the matter?"

"Um...well, he likes sports cars. Old American ones. Muscle cars. What will you do if you find him?" Rally ventured.

"The phrase is, '_when_ we find him'. We aren't a bunch of fat Cook County cops on the take. This is the FBI." Wesson picked up his phone.

"Uh...this is Bean Bandit. Do you have the smallest idea what he can do?"

"He can drive?" said Smith with a snigger. "So what?"

"He can do a lot more than that! You know the size of him?"

"Hot shit with the ladies, huh?" Smith leered at her torn dress. "Size matters?"

"It does in a FIGHT!"

"Looks like he's better at RUNNING!"

"You mind keeping it down a little?" Wesson put a hand over the receiver. "I'm trying to work here, Pete."

"So is Coleman's theory correct? Mr. Bandit trying to get into your pants, _Miss Vincent?"_

"Jesus Christ..." muttered Wesson.

Rally clenched her fist over the fax. "I already told your partner that I slept with Bean. Once."

"Once? How long ago?"

"About one this morning."

Wesson put the receiver down. "What? After Brown died? Right around the time he found the money in your car?" The two agents looked at each other. "And he told you he'd kill you moments after he'd—hold on a moment, sir, I'll explain." He put up a hand. "Ms. Vincent, I thought you meant you had sex with him by mutual consent. Did he force you to take him out of the garage? Are we talking about kidnapping and rape here?"

His expression filled with anger and dawning sympathy. Even Smith straightened up and put out his cigarette.

"I..." Rally's mouth dropped open.

It would be so easy. All she had to do was say 'Yes', and maybe burst into tears for effect, and Smith and Wesson would back off, apologizing and stumbling over themselves to make it all better. They'd ask her gingerly to have a pelvic exam, which would prove she had been injured—her hymen had been torn and there was sure to be blood on her underwear—and Roy would back her up, testifying that Bean had been lusting after her and had a violent air about him.

She could slough the whole mess onto Bean in such a way he would never get free of it. He could be the cunning instigator and she the innocent, none-too-bright pawn. All she had to do was play to assumptions that everyone was more than willing to make, and be the helpless victim for a while. What would it cost besides a carload of self-respect? Bean hated her anyway.

"No," said Rally in a steady voice. "He didn't force me to do anything."

"He's not here. He can't hurt you now. You don't have to shield him, even if he told you not to go to the police. I can get a female agent to talk to you if you'd prefer, or your friend Coleman." Wesson picked up his phone.

"No, please. I mean what I say. I wasn't raped. Please don't even hint that to Roy. He'll go nuclear."

Smith snorted and lit another Newport. Wesson let out a long sigh and sat back in his chair. "All right. You cooperated with Bean of your own free will. I hope you realize what you're admitting to."

"I do. I would have stayed and waited for the police after the place caught fire, but Bean made me leave. I did call Roy as soon as I could manage! You know that!" She clenched her fists. "I haven't been trying to evade this."

"Why did you take Mr. Bandit out of the hotel, then?"

"I owed it to him. It was a point of honor, because I promised him half the money in that suitcase and my help in getting away with it."

Wesson shook his head. "Why did you let him escape with the money after he found it in your car?"

"Because I wasn't willing to kill him to stop him."

"Why didn't you contact us immediately?"

"I don't know. I had the idea that Larry Sam could help me. I went to see him and discovered that the Dragons had shot up his place. I held together until I left the restaurant. I...I'm not sure where I went after that. I drove around at random until the sun came up. Then I called Roy again."

"Sounds like it's about time for the Mirandizing," said Smith. "Unless you want to go for it, Bob." He nodded at the binder page with his handwritten notes.

Wesson tapped a pencil point on the paper. "What were you going to do with the other half of the money, Ms. Vincent? Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars—that's a tidy chunk of change for a bounty hunter."

"I was going to turn it over to the FBI," said Rally with a tiny smile.

"Huh!" Wesson sounded incredulous..

"It's true. You can ask Roy. I wanted it all to go to the government the way it should. But I had to promise Bean half of it or he wouldn't go along with the deal. Give me a polygraph test if you like."

Smith leaned over and flipped the binder page to the previous sheet, then underlined something in his notes with one finger. Wesson read it and raised his brows with a smile.

"All right, Pete. I will go for it. I've heard a few details that make it sound even better. You have the ID sheet filled out?"

"Last page," said Smith. Wesson flipped through the binder and examined the page, which looked like a Wanted poster without a photograph, the entries written by hand. "That's mostly from Coleman, since he saw the guy up close in good light. We put together a composite drawing and it's ready to circulate. Good break. And I guess this little lady can bust him wide open."

"What?" said Rally.

"I think we should let Detective Coleman give her the proposed outline of action, sir. Just to impress Ms. Vincent with the importance of this," said Wesson.

"He's pretty impressed, all right," chuckled Smith. "He's sweating bullets and sitting in a puddle. I'll put him in the conference room." He got up and left the office.

"Are you asking me to help you arrest Bean?"

"Not precisely," said Wesson. "We're asking you to help us get him into the Eight Dragon Triad."

* * *

"No refuge, Rally. That's the idea. Make it so hot for him..." Roy mopped his forehead for the third time since he had come into the room. "…that he will have to join a syndicate to remain in business. The FBI will work with the Chicago department to hem him in when he returns there. We might arrest him and wait for the Dragons to bail him out, which apparently is likely. He'd incur an obligation that way, and we know he pays off his obligations." 

"You'll never arrest him, Roy." Rally gazed out the window of the conference room at the mid-morning sky. Still grey, though a little brighter than it had been at dawn. Smith and Wesson sat at the opposite end of the long table, shuffling folders and maps and making notes. They didn't seem to be listening.

"No one's invulnerable. He's been lucky."

"He's not like anyone else. He's Bean."

"A cheap crook who walked off with all the money when he got a chance! He's not a friend of yours! Why in the name of Christ are you defending him!"

"'I told you so.'" She dropped her head in one hand. "I know you warned me."

"Are you going to hold that against me?"

"How can I? You were right." Rally raised her face and drew a deep ragged breath. "He took all the money. He threatened to kill me."

"Then there cannot be a problem here, right?"

"Oh, God! Trying to get the money back was one thing. Telling them what kind of car he might steal—well, that was such a long shot. But this..."

"The Dragons apparently want him so badly that they let their main West Coast distributor take the fall for letting him go. The FBI already knows a little about Bean. With your help, they can get a complete profile and sense of his motivations and M.O. That's their wedge into the Triad. And they want you to visibly participate in the effort to hem him in. You provided refuge for him before. They want him to know that's not possible now."

"They want to destroy any prospect of Bean's ever realizing that I didn't try to steal the money from him," said Rally quietly. "They want to make sure he hates me permanently."

"What's wrong with that? He promised to kill you!"

"Because he made a mistake!" She gestured half in despair. "If he gets a chance to think about it calmly, if I get a chance to prove it to him, he might realize that he was wrong. If he only gets a chance! Without that, he's going to go back into drug running. He'll sink lower and lower. It's even possible he WILL end up working for the Dragons, just out of spite, and then... Oh, God, Roy, he could end up DEAD!"

"Don't tell me you give a DAMN about that!"

Why did she? His softer side had frightened her even more than had his threats of violence. What would she have done if Bean had persisted in kissing and coaxing her, if nothing had interrupted his afterglow? Anything she could have done would have been a disaster. Had she been about to wrench away from his insistent hands or had she been about to turn in his arms and kiss him back?

Anything but that…

The idea of sleeping in Bean's bed, imprisoned in his embrace night after night, was worse than her fear of the penitentiary. If Bean did come after her, she could meet the physical threat. A violent attack was exactly what she knew how to deal with. She had the tools. But if he had asked her to stay with him, be his lover, give herself up to the kind of pleasure she knew very well he could bring her...

Rally shuddered with a cold thrill. Terrifying and morbidly tempting, like the prospect of drug addiction. She had already had a couple of powerful hits, and she had no idea how she could have fought off the craving if he had managed to get her hooked. Addiction had always been one of her greatest phobias. Once or twice in his arms again, a few intense moments of physical rush, and her mind and heart could have followed. That might have been all it would have taken to render her helpless before a thin illusion of happiness; the love of a man like Bean could lead only to disaster.

But love wasn't what he had offered her, of course. Only an opportunity to lose her direction, her ideals, her will. A self-made prison that looked like release. That was the root of the problem—she wasn't truly afraid of Bean, but of herself.

"What is it?" Roy frowned at her expression.

"He's not Chinese—why do they think he's got a shot at numbered membership?"

"He's part Japanese, Rally."

"What?"

"I don't know the details. But the FBI has established that he had one Japanese parent. They believe that the Dragons know that too and that it must be good enough for them."

"The FBI knows who his parents are?" She remembered what Brown had said: _I may be the only person in the world who has this information and has put two and two together... _What did that mean?

"That's what I said! It got outlined to me this way: Some of the Hong Kong Triad leaders have forged alliances with other Asian gangs, and the Macau Triads are even more willing to do so. Singapore, the Philippines, Thailand. In the United States, the Triads use Vietnamese for a lot of their thug work. What seems to matter to them is Asian blood in general, as opposed to European. They don't care about Asian citizenship, either—actually, recruiting American citizens is the kind of thing that will help them a lot in this country. The Japanese yakuza are very powerful in their own country, but the Triads are moving into the vice markets there. So far, the yakuza haven't allied with them—there could be a gang war brewing. Perhaps the Dragons believe that recruiting Japanese-Americans will help them with the yakuza. They could be right."

"But he doesn't think of himself as Japanese. He doesn't even like Asian food, for God's sake!"

"See, that's the kind of details they want from you! I agree, it surprised me too. I thought he didn't look quite Caucasian, but I figured he was Latino or maybe part Native American. That could be in the mix too, for all anyone knows."

"I don't know. It's _all_ such a mix right now...I'm so tired, I can't think!" Rally put her head in both hands, then sagged to the table. "I've been up the whole night, doing terrible things..."

Smith looked up, then leaned over to Wesson and said something. Both of them looked at her, and Smith cleared his throat. "Miss Vincent. You have the picture now, I hope?"

"Yes."

"And you are of course going to go with the program. Considering your alternative."

She closed her eyes. "Can I go get some sleep now?"

Wesson slid a document over to her. It was typed on a FBI letterhead, and her eyes blurred as she tried to read it. "This is simply your pledge to aid our operation and investigation in any way that lies in your power. Basically, you are working for us until we say you're not. In return, you have not been arrested for your role in the deaths of Sylvester Gaius Brown and Henry Kameha Huang, or for your aid to Bean Bandit and the conveyance of five hundred thousand dollars of illegal drug profits to him. This agreement is revocable at any time, for any reason we see fit." He tapped the paper. "On this line, at the 'X'."

"In other words, I sign my body and soul over to the FBI, or it's thirty years to life."

"Here's a pen," said Smith.

* * *

"Oh, May, I feel like shit..." 

"You LOOK like shit!" May stood in the doorway of her hotel room wearing only a T-shirt and underwear. "What did the FBI say to you?" Rally could only shake her head. "Come in and sit down! Gosh, what happened?"

"Oh, God, May, I shot a helpless man and Brown burned to death..."

"I know. Roy woke me up and told me late last night. But he said it was an accident."

"It was. But they're still dead. And B-Bean..."

"Did he get hurt?" May's eyebrows went up. "Where did he go?"

"I hate him." Rally's voice was almost inaudible. "I hate him."

"What?"

"He got his damn money and he left! He ought to be satisfied now, the bastard!"

"But Roy said you hadn't gotten the money! And that it was just as well, because the FBI was going to find out about it sooner or later even if everything had gone the way you hoped."

"We didn't get the money at the warehouse. We thought O'Toole had taken it. Someone...somehow, they planted it in my Cobra."

"Planted it?" May sat down beside Rally on the bed. "I've got a bad feeling about this..."

"Bean found it. He thought I'd hidden it there. That I was going to renege on the deal and stiff him for the money. And he even accused me of committing murder to keep it quiet..."

"What did he do?" May put her arm around Rally's shoulders.

"He...he said he ought to kill me..."

"Oh, my God."

"But then he just took it and left. I couldn't stop him."

"Oh, Rally..." May set her little jaw.

"I'm so tired. I've got nothing left. But I have to find them. O'Toole, and the rest of them—I have to prove that money was a plant. I still don't know what their game is, but they meant Bean to find it and probably to kill me... Someone's gonna pay for that."

"Yeah, they will." May had a cold edge in her voice. "But maybe not today. Come take a shower, sweetie. Let's get that dress off you—geez, it looks like you got dragged behind a car. Were the FBI guys that nasty?" She unzipped the back of the red dress and began to work the spandex down Rally's body.

"No. They were very quiet and very serious—at least Wesson was—and that's how I know I'm in deep, deep shit. I had to sign a paper promising to help the investigation, but if I screw that up, they'll just go ahead and arrest me..." Rally shrugged out of the sleeves and waggled her hips to assist May. Her panties and hose tangled with the dress, static electricity crackling, and she shed the whole set at once, leaving her in only her strapless bra. May unhooked it for her and led her into the bathroom.

"You want a shower or a bath? I'll scrub your back and wash your hair, huh?"

Rally couldn't help smiling. "What've I got here, a maid?"

"Oh, a little more than that." May kicked off her panties and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Her five-months-pregnant stomach and slightly enlarged breasts made her seem a little older, but she still looked like a teenager. "We'll do a shower, then you can soak if you want to. Nice to have that hotel-size water heater!" She turned on the water and rummaged through her vanity case for a loofah. "Salon shampoo...conditioner...glycerin body wash. OK, let's get in—the water's hot!"

Rally stood under a pounding spray and let May stroke her from head to foot with a lathered net puff. The last greasy streaks of makeup dissolved away, and the sweat, tears and stickiness of her hour in the car with Bean went down the drain with them. All that remained was a lingering soreness in her groin and the emptiness, like a cold cavity in her midsection. He hadn't even filled that for her. Could anyone? Any man?

"Here, Ral, get your hair wet." May squeezed a generous portion of elegantly scented shampoo into her palm and worked it into Rally's hair. Her dexterous little fingers massaged Rally's scalp and encouraged the lather. "Boy, I really lacquered you up, didn't I? It soaked right through into your hair. This'll get it all out."

"Oh, May..." said Rally softly. "I'm sorry I got mad at you yesterday. It was all for nothing."

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been goofing off. You needed me to come through for you."

Rally wanted to cry, but her tears had all been shed. "May, you are my best friend, you know that? I really love you."

"I love you too, sweetie." May dropped a kiss on Rally's bare wet back. "Here, rinse." She helped Rally chase all the suds out with hot water, then smoothed conditioner into her dripping hair. "Leave that in for ten minutes. This is the good stuff. Expensive!"

"Thank you. Is this what you use for Ken?"

"Oh, sort of. It's mostly just an excuse to indulge myself!"

"Do you miss him?"

"Yeah, a little. You know pregnancy makes you horny!"

"It does?"

"Uh-huh. I always feel all warm and swollen down there, like I've just had a good fucking!"

Rally shivered under the steaming spray.

"Is something the matter?" May put both hands on her back.

"No..." She considered telling May what had happened in the car, but the words wouldn't form. "You...you mean it feels like that all the time?"

"Yup! Not like I need any encouragement, but it makes me want to touch myself about every half-hour!" May giggled and waggled her bottom, her blonde hair streaming with water.

"Gosh, May, is that really a _change?"_ They both giggled.

"Well, how often do _you_ do it?"

"May!"

"I mean, you don't have a boyfriend, you don't even go out with anyone—and if you and Bean didn't have sex when you spent two nights together, you must be getting it some other way!"

"Oh, God, don't talk about him! I don't want to remember he exists..."

"Oh, Rally, I'm sorry!" May embraced her from behind, her little round stomach bumping Rally's bottom. The shower flowed over them both. "I want to make you feel better. I messed up earlier and I could have screwed this whole thing up for you..."

"No, you didn't! It was never going to work no matter what any of us did. It was a trap. They set up a trap for me. It's not your fault." She turned and hugged May back, their wet naked bodies sealing together. May pressed her head to Rally's breasts, then looked up into her face.

When Rally looked down, May kissed her on the mouth. Her little hands cupped the sides of Rally's face and she rose on tiptoe, pushing her soft tongue between her lips. Rally experienced a deep twinge in her belly and pulled back. "What are you doing, May? Are you really that horny?"

"Maybe." May ran her hands down over Rally's breasts and tweaked the nipples. "How about I just take care of you for a little while?" Rally blushed and leaned back against the tile. May lapped at her nipples, alternating fingers and tongue from one to the other.

Rally sighed deeply and bowed her head to kiss May's wet hair. A hand began to explore her pubic hair and she let her legs part, relaxing into May's soft touch. Her clit and labia were no longer slick and swollen, but her entrance felt sore. When May's finger penetrated slightly and met the source of the sting, Rally held her wrist to guide her away.

"Is that too tender? Sorry."

"No, it's nothing...just feels better here..."

"Like that?"

"Yes..." They kissed and jousted lightly with their tongues. Rally felt her moisture begin to smooth May's strokes, and let her head loll on her neck, enjoying the gentleness, the softness and smallness of her friend's body pressed against hers. So unlike. So completely unlike. Perfect. Her hips pumped against May's hand.

"You're so pretty, Rally," whispered May. "You look beautiful like this, you know? You don't need all that junk I put on you last night."

"Um." Rally's breath came faster.

"You seem a little...different today. Something interesting about the way you smell...well, never mind all the crap. Right now it's just you and me. Do you want to touch me?"

Rally reached down and put a hand on May's stomach. "Hi there, baby. Your mama and I are just having a little fun." She slid the hand down and around, and discovered that May was hot and slick, fully ready. As her fingers moved between May's labia, May's hand worked back and forth on her vulva, their lips meeting again. May panted and jerked, then let out a loud cry and threw her head back.

"I was about ready to come the moment you got your clothes off, sweetie," she said with a grin. "There's something very sexy about you today. Now that I got that out of the way..." She went to work in earnest.

Rally rolled her head back and forth across the tile, bucking her pelvis under May's expert fingers. The slippery tub felt dangerous, but her friend held her up and tongued her nipples, circling her clit with a wet index finger and stroking the other hand between her buttocks. Rally spread her legs wider. May's finger explored her tight knothole and pressed a little way inside, and Rally shrieked.

"Too much?"

"No—oh God, do that!" Rally put her hand over May's and clamped it firmly to her vulva, then rubbed down hard. Her skin glowed with the warm massage of the water and her face felt even hotter. Her awareness wound down tighter and tighter into the core of her belly, and suddenly she heard herself groaning loud and hoarse. She came, her legs shaking.

"Ooh, time to rinse," said May.

* * *

She woke to May's gentle shaking. The window showed late-afternoon sunlight declining to the west. "Rally, it's five o'clock. If you want some dinner before you have to go back to the Federal Building, you'd better get up now. I took a cab and got your suitcase and your guns from the Sandpiper Inn so you could change." 

"Ohh God..." She grabbed the pillow and pulled it over her head. "I hate sleeping during the day!"

"So get up."

"I want to stay in bed for the rest of my LIFE!"

"And let Bean get away with all that money? I don't think so! Wait until you feel better—you'll be rarin' to go!"

"Oh, all right..." Rally rolled up, rubbing her eyes. She wore underwear and one of May's T-shirts, which was far too small for her. May winked at her, sitting on the bed. "Uh, May, did we...?"

"Yes, we did! Don't worry, it wasn't serious." May poked her lightly in the nose. "You just looked like you needed some comforting. The girls at the Purple Pussy always helped each other out that way, you know. You haven't lost your virginity or anything!"

"Aaaghh!" Rally screamed, vaulting off the bed and heading for the bathroom, pursued by May's laughter.

"Where do you want to eat?" May called. "Chinese?"

"NO!"

"Italian?"

"…No."

"Umm...Japanese?"

"AAAIIIGGHH!"

"Geez, have a cow. Hmm, there's an idea—burgers?"

"No, _please..."_

"What the hell is wrong with all of those?" said May in disgust. "Aren't you hungry?"

Rally came out of the bathroom and flopped down on the bed again. "No."

"Soup and salad bar. That's the ticket if you don't feel like eating much." May picked up the hotel's restaurant guide and flipped through it. "Here. Fresh Choice, on Geary."

Rally opened her suitcase. "OK, that sounds all right…" She selected a pair of comfortable black knit leggings and a hip-length short-sleeved tunic, putting on her CZ75 and reaching for her wrist slide.

"You think you're going to need that?"

"Absolutely." Rally put on the wrist slide with the .25 and strapped the Duo to her ankle, putting on a pair of short boots. "You'd better bring all the stuff you can haul. We've got to get my car from the Sandpiper Inn, though. We can take a cab over there again and drive the Cobra to the restaurant."

"You think Bean's still in town?"

"I don't know. Certainly the Dragons are!"

"OK." May picked up her jacket and loaded the pockets and hanging tabs inside. She put in three flash-bangs, a confetti bomb, a frag grenade, a length of fuse, a detonator/timer, a location transmitter and a small pack of C4. "We are two tough broads, armed to the teeth. I'm the Blonde Bombshell, and this is my partner, Three-Gun Rally! Don'tcha mess wit' us, sucka!" Rally smiled, May laughed, and sunshine seemed to fill the room—along with the smell of gunpowder. "Yes! Feels like old times. Let's go eat."

They concealed their arsenal and went down, emerging from the elevator into a brightly decorated lobby. This was the sort of hotel Rally liked—moderately priced, well-maintained, and with no armies of servicepeople holding out hands for tips. She had the feeling of regaining a happy medium after days of extremes, and the sense of balance and energy she usually enjoyed began to move through her veins.

"OK, I'm hungry now," she said happily. "I hope we get a cab soon!" One pulled up the moment they walked out to the steps, and they piled in, joking and giggling all the way to the Sandpiper Inn.

Even the sight of the place didn't disturb Rally's improved mood, and she even hoped O'Toole would put in an appearance, just to give her CZ75 a workout and let May feel like a contributor. She had spun an entire scenario involving multiple grenades stuffed down his pants when they entered the garage and walked to the Cobra. Rally had parked it on the first level, in sight of the entrance gate, and sitting by the ramp was an FBI agent in a navy blazer, who rose and approached them.

"Excuse me; Ms. Vincent?"

"That's me." Rally got out her keys.

"That's _your_ car?" He looked bug-eyed at the Cobra. "Wow…uh, that is, I'm Agent Gonzales. Agent Smith wants you to take your car to the Federal Building this evening. Don't take a cab."

"Wasn't planning to." Rally was slightly mystified. "I just got it out of the shop anyway!"

"All right, then." He walked to his chair—a folding camp model with a thermos standing next to it. "I'm watching for this Bandit fellow, and his car's staked out down on the fourth level. Be sure to give us a holler if he starts tailing you or something like that."

"No problem," said Rally with some warmth. The mention of Bean eroded her equilibrium slightly, and when she opened the Cobra's doors, the sight of its interior produced a sudden flashback. Not of Bean threatening her, nor of the look on his face when he had, but of him sitting in her passenger seat, face wreathed in a happy smile, cajoling her, 'C'mon, gimme a kiss.'

For the first time she thought about what he must have felt when he had found the money. What had he believed, a moment before the rifle had hit the suitcase? That she wanted him as a steady lover? That she had given him her heart along with her virginity? Maybe she didn't know much about guys, but how much did he know about women? Or even about her?

Possibly he thought they were all fickle at heart, liable to abandon him on a moment's notice…the way someone had abandoned him in a parking lot. His natural mother had given him up, his adoptive parents had died. Probably he had been too young to have any memory of a caring mother at all, if he had ever had one. And so that suitcase must have hit him like a sucker punch in the least-armored part of his emotional makeup.

It was still no excuse, she told herself. He had no justification for what he had said, and since he had threatened to kill her, she determined that whatever sympathy she found lurking in her feelings towards him would have to be rooted out. If she ever had him in her sights again, she would not hesitate to pull the trigger.

They got into the Cobra, and May wrinkled her nose. "Boy, it sure smells funky in here. Roy been smoking in your car? I thought you didn't let anyone do that."

"I don't."

"Of course, the smell tends to spread around even if he does it outside..." May sniffed more carefully. "Man, it's thick. That isn't just smoke—it's...um."

"What?"

"Uhh...nothing."

"May?"

"You don't want to remember he exists."

"It smells like...Bean?"

"Yeah. As if he were right here next to me." May looked to the side and hunched her shoulders as if to conceal a sudden quiver. "Kind of spooky."

"How do you know what he smells like?"

"I'm pregnant! I can smell five times better than usual! I pay attention to that kind of thing...he smells like that leather jacket of his, and like motor oil and cigarettes. And as if he had an oversupply of testosterone—like a bull musk-ox! It's awfully strong, Rally."

It did smell like Bean. Like Bean and herself combined: sweating, straining, fucking their brains out with the juices flowing like rain...

"What's been going on in here?" May crouched over and looked at the floor, then felt under the seat. She came up with Bean's driving gloves and a blank look. "What are these doing here?"

Rally reddened in an intense flush of blood, then felt it all drain away.

"What is it? You're pale." May looked at her. "Frankly, you've been looking strange all day. Until the last hour or so…but now—"

"I'm a little stressed out!"

"OK, OK. Um, are you sorry you let me..."

"No." Rally leaned over and hugged May. "I didn't mind that at all. Frankly, it was the perfect remedy..."

"To what?"

"Bean."

"Um...to Bean?" May's eyes narrowed. "Rally, what happened when he found that suitcase?"

"I told you. He took it, he told me he should kill me, and he left."

"Was that all he did? Rally...it smells like..." She hesitated. "Like sex."

"Are you going to start THAT again?"

"I...Look, I'm sorry I teased you about Bean. I was mad. I know you don't like him that way and you never have, and gosh, you reacted so well! I couldn't resist! But this is serious. I mean, I know what semen smells like. I've sucked off more men than I can count, and it varies a little, but..."

Rally sat with her hands on the wheel, her face twitching.

"Rally. This morning you were bruised all over. You looked terrible until you got cleaned up. I know, you'd just spent hours being interrogated by FBI agents, and you'd had a firefight and killed someone. I put it down to that. But when I touched you in the shower, you were sore at the entrance to your vagina. For God's sake, sweetie, I'm your friend. Tell me what happened in this car."

"I...I've told you."

May closed her eyes, her face going white, and put the fingertips of both hands over her mouth, pressing them tightly to her lips. "Fine. I shouldn't push you. I'm sure I'm not doing this right." She swallowed hard and steepled her fingers over her face. "That's your business, maybe." She took a deep breath, then suddenly hit her fist against the door. "Goddammit, it's my business too! I left you alone with him!"

"Oh, God..."

"This stinks! Literally!" May's voice and body trembled. "I thought he had a heart, OK? He saved my life a couple of times. But I guess that doesn't say everything about a guy. I guess money means more to him than anything else in the world, and I guess if he thought you were trying to trick him out of that much cash he would get angrier than I've ever seen him."

"You got that right. But you're reading too much into this, May; you're imagining things."

May opened her eyes again, their gaze hard and direct. "You tell me what happened last night when you feel ready to tell me, Rally. I am not going to make you talk about it. But the next time I see Bean Bandit, I'm going to shove a Minnie-May special so far up his ass they're going to be looking for his balls on two separate continents and for his PRICK on the fricking dark side of the MOON."


	10. Chapter 10

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Ten**

"Physical description—we got the outline from Detective Coleman. You want to add anything?" Smith tossed a printout at her.

* * *

DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE  
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION 

INTERNAL INFORMATION—NOT FOR RELEASE TO PUBLIC  
FUGITIVE IDENTIFICATION SHEET

NAME: Bean Bandit  
NOTE: Probable alias  
AKA: Bean, Roadbuster  
SEX: M

DOB: UNKNOWN, approx. 1968-1972 RACE: Asian/White mix  
HEIGHT: approx 6' 6''--6' 8''  
WEIGHT: approx 240--250 lbs.  
HAIR: Black  
EYES: Brown  
COMPLEXION: Medium  
BUILD: Muscular

DISTINCTIVE FEATURES, SCARS, TATTOOS, ETC. (ATTACH SKETCH IF APPLICABLE):  
X-shaped Scar over bridge of nose  
Large Jaw

WANTED:No outstanding warrants

SSN: UNKNOWN  
DL #: UNKNOWN

LAST KNOWN ADDRESS: Chicago, ILL  
PLACE OF BIRTH: UNKNOWN  
NOTE: Native language English, American accent

KNOWN WEAPONS: Not known to employ firearms.  
KNOWN VEHICLES (YEAR/MAKE/MODEL/COLOR/ LICENSE # AND STATE)  
1. Late model customized 2-door, 4-seat coupe, Red, 3UPY666, CA  
2.1971 Ford Mustang, Mach 1, Red, THX 1138, ILL

SUMMARY: Works as freelance courier for a variety of clients. Known as highly  
professional and reliable, therefore picks up contracts for particularly  
valuable cargos and sensitive operations. Known to provide driving  
service for criminal enterprises including bank robbery, prison escape  
and interstate transportation of drugs, weapons, explosives, stolen  
goods and currency, other contraband. Possible resource for clearing  
many FBI cases.

NOTES: Could be threatened with prosecution under Fed. Statutes 1234.12a and  
967.1c. Frequents the Chicago area, but known to make occasional  
runs to NYC and other Northeastern urban centers. May be susceptible  
to bribery. Excellent hand-to-hand fighter.

SHOULD BE CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS.  
Do not attempt to apprehend without backup!

* * *

Rally read the entire page. So few words to sum up a man.

"Well?" said Smith impatiently.

"This is...a little sketchy. And this composite drawing doesn't look much like him—it looks like Jay Leno in a Beatles wig. If I didn't know it was supposed to be Bean, I'd never have guessed."

"It was put together from a book of facial features in about half an hour. It was obvious to me Coleman didn't relish the task." Smith chuckled. "You think there's room for improvement? Fine, that's your next job." He picked up his phone and spoke to someone, then cocked an eye at her. "You can't fill in any of the unknowns?"

"Not really... Brown said he was born in 1970, in Michigan, I think, but that's only his word. I could give you a list of his cars that I've seen, but he buys new ones all the time. I used to know where he lived, but the last time I checked the building, it was abandoned. I saw some of his documentation, but it was all false. He's probably got multiple sets."

Smith made a disgusted face. "And for this we let you off the hook for Brown? Try a little harder, sweetheart."

Rally clenched her lips together. "He doesn't tell _anyone_ these things. He's no amateur."

"Neither am I. Start digging, and you better find some nuggets!"

Rally looked at the sheet again, her stomach wrenching itself into knots. "He...he uses a sheath knife most of the time. And he's got other knives handy, in his jacket. I saw him use a pair of throwing spikes...oh, his jacket!"

"Something special about the jacket?"

"It's armored. That's an inadequate term—it's not like an ordinary bullet-resistant vest. He's got layers and layers of Kevlar and plates and chain mail in it. It looks like a black leather motorcycle jacket and it weighs about fifty pounds."

"No shit. How does he manage to wear it?"

"He's got the strength of...Hercules."

"You've been watching too much TV, hon."

"He rolled a car over with a little help! And I've seen him take hits that would have laid anyone else flat, or killed them. Don't ever underestimate his determination. He won't give up until he's unconscious or dead."

"Sounds like one tough mother."

"That's about the size of it. Sometimes it seems like he's nearly superhuman. He's probably going to cause you a lot of—"

Smith laughed contemptuously. "Oh, right. You seem to think we're heading for trouble with this operation. As if a rinky-dink Triad or this Bandit bozo's going to stump the FBI!" Smith leaned forward. "Let me tell you something, little lady. I've been an agent of this man's Bureau for more years than you've been alive, and I was a G.I. grunt in a frontline infantry battalion during the goddamn Tet offensive. I have hunted crooks all over this country for the better part of three decades and I have put them in the slammer just about every time. I have crouched in stinking hot swamps under artillery fire with half a belt of ammo left and my best friend's brains all over my face. I am not ever going to lie down for a bunch of criminal gooks and some oversize _driver,_ no matter how close I am to retirement. Just you keep that in mind, girl."

"Sure," said Rally, disliking him more with every passing second.

"Here. Start listing the cars." Smith tossed a yellow pad and a pencil to her across his desk. "That won't be any use 'til he gets back to Chicago, of course. "

"The big red one's still in the parking garage at the Sandpiper Inn, isn't it?" asked Rally, writing on the pad. "There's a Honda Civic too…" She wrote its license number down on the pad, remembering how she and Bean had joked about the Honda. He had taken such care with her safety…

"I've got a two-man stakeout at the Sandpiper Inn. Discreet, so we won't spook him if he comes back to claim the red car. How likely is he to do that?"

"He spent a lot of money on it. But it's been hours and hours." She looked at her watch. "I got to sleep around noon. It's nearly eight P.M. now. If he hasn't made a try for it yet, it's probably because he knows perfectly well that you're waiting for him. He may be figuring how to retrieve it, and he's got to have a plan for escaping from the city with it and getting home if he's going to have a chance of making it. That's going to take him a little while to set up, I bet."

"OK, makes sense. What's that thing's range, by the way?"

"A little shorter than an ordinary sports car. He had to fill up at about 250 miles, highway. He said he doesn't like to drive it long distance."

"Hah." Smith made a note. "Say, you have any of his stuff? We didn't find any in your hotel room, except a used disposable shaver. We let your partner take your clothes and weapons—well, except that SFPD gun. I think a couple people are going to lose their jobs over that one."

"Oh, no." Rally's shoulders sagged. The damage just kept spreading.

"Well?"

"No, I don't—oh! His duffel bag is still in my car! Maybe there's something—"

"Nope, nothing interesting." Smith pulled out a typed inventory list. "Clothes, mostly. Jeans and shirts and socks. He wears a size fifteen shoe and has the inseam of a basketball player, but we knew that already."

"You searched my car?" So that was why Smith had instructed her to bring it! An attendant at the building's garage had valet-parked it, which she had also found slightly odd, but this was the Federal Building, after all.

Smith was looking at her. "You were expecting something else? They're going over it with a pair of tweezers and a goddamn electron microscope. It's in our impound garage."

"My Cobra? But you can't take away my COBRA!"

"It's not being confiscated. More's the pity." Smith smirked. "I'd claim that beautiful brute in a moment if it were. What the hell is a little lady like you doing with a genuine Shelby Mustang?"

"Driving it," said Rally with as much of a snarl as she dared.

"Shit, that thing deserves a _man_ at the wheel. Way too much power for a woman."

Rally's fists flexed. "I want it back. I need MY CAR." She and Smith indulged in a staring match for a few moments, then the agent grunted.

"Yeah, we'll get everything we need. You can take it back to the hotel tonight. But you aren't driving home just yet. You've got work to do."

"I can't fill in any more blanks on the ID sheet. I'm short on hard facts. All I have is impressions."

"No? How about scars and marks?"

"Scars? The one on his face is listed already—"

"Ones not visible in street clothing." He chortled.

Rally clenched her jaw, but stared Smith in the eyes until his gaze slid away and he smiled half-apologetically. "Nine-month-old bullet wounds all along the left side of his chest and shoulder, and three-month-old ones on his right arm and hand. He's got a recent gunshot in the right thigh. Nothing else distinctive."

"OK." He made a few notes on the printout. "How do you know the dates of these wounds?"

"I was there when he got them. I've got a question."

"Yeah?"

"If you know he has one Japanese parent, how come you don't know all this other stuff? As far as I know, you would have to do a lot of digging to know who his parents are. You would have found out a lot of other things on the way."

Smith looked taken aback, which she hadn't seen before. "Ah…well, I don't think it's all on this one. It's an old one."

"Really? Why would you give me an old one if you want to get all this correct?" Rally looked at the desk when Smith rearranged a folder over another one, a little too casually.

"Oh, somebody fucked up. You got anything else?"

"Mmm…Bean changes plates all the time, by the way, so don't rely on license numbers for identification. He brought a black Corvette Stingray along on the trip, but he crashed it out, so he won't be driving that." She tried to sound unconcerned, but she took a good look at the folder Smith had covered. Black, thick, dog-eared. It didn't match anything else on his desk.

"If he's got a head on his shoulders, he's busting that road back to Chicago right now. We put out a bulletin for stolen cars trending east."

"Does that mean you're going to let me go home soon?"

Smith smiled reprovingly. "I'm not handing you over to the Chicago office, hon. This is my baby."

"But...but I have a business to run! I'm spending my own money on hotel rooms—how am I supposed to—"

"Should have thought of that before you got up to your neck in San Francisco."

"Agent Smith," said Rally through gritted teeth, "it is not going to help your investigation when my Visa maxes out in two days or so and my friend and I end up thrown out on the street!"

"Oh, fucking Christ!" he growled. "I'll get a requisition going. Blood from a stone—this is going to come out of my goddamn budget..." He thrust the ID sheet back into its folder and got up. "Come with me. There's someone I want you to meet."

They went down the hallway to the elevator and rode up three floors, then got off in an area marked FORENSICS and walked to a reception desk. "Put her in with Roberta," said Smith to the receptionist, and thrust the folder at Rally. "I'm going to go catch dinner. Give her back to me when she's done."

The receptionist said "Yes, sir," and picked up a phone. A man with a badge ambled out of the cubicles and indicated that Rally should follow him. He took her to an enclosed office and knocked on the door, which immediately opened. Expecting another dour agent, Rally was a little startled to see a petite ponytailed woman with glasses and a friendly smile.

"Hi, I'm Roberta." The woman shook Rally's hand and ushered her inside. "I hear you're working with an investigation."

"Uh...yes. Hi. Um, I'm Rally Vincent."

"Pleased to meet you, Rally. Did Agent Smith tell you what this is about?"

"Not really."

"Well, I'm a forensic artist. I do mug shots, among other things." She smiled and rocked a thumb at a computer that stood on a desk, surrounded by folders. Photographs and drawings decorated the walls. "I've got a big library of noses and mouths and stuff, and I can put them together any way you say they should go. I'll be asking you to relax and visualize this person that you saw, and the situation that was taking place, and describe him or her as well as you can. I don't do this exactly the standard FBI way, with the mug book—I won't show you the images until the face is put together, and then you can kibitz it as a whole. It avoids contaminating your memory." She pulled out a cushiony chair and shut the door.

"I don't think...that's going to be a problem. He's...he's someone I know. Pretty well."

"All the better, then." Roberta held her hand out for the folder. "Here, sit down. Let me just do a quick scan of the ID sheet." She opened the folder and sat at her computer. On the screen sat a neutral oval with a neck, surrounded by menu bars and covered with crosshair guides, but she spun the monitor around so that Rally couldn't see it. "Bean Bandit? This is not the guy's real name?"

"No. I don't know what that is."

Roberta looked up. "You know him, huh? Is he a friend of yours?"

"Not...any more."

"Rally...are you OK?"

"I'm fine."

"Sergeant Smith pushing you a little hard? You look tired."

"Is that what you call him? I was up all night, I guess."

"You want a cup of coffee or something? I brought a big thermos from Starbucks. Lowfat latte with hazelnut."

"Oh...God, that sounds wonderful."

"Here you go." Roberta filled a foam cup and handed it to her. "Keeps me awake and juiced for the all-nighters. I've been reconstructing a face based on a skull...well, you don't want to hear about that. It's a little grim."

"You'd be surprised what I hear about in my line of work."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a bounty hunter."

"Really? Wow." Roberta looked honestly impressed. "Are you going to be hunting for this guy?"

"M-maybe..."

"Can you tell me something about him? About the case? Usually the agent would fill me in, but obviously he hasn't done that. And usually I get descriptions from witnesses to a crime, not someone who knows the person I need to draw. You don't have any photographs of him...?"

"No. I've been traveling and rooming with him for the last few days. But it wasn't exactly a vacation."

"Oh, no." Roberta put a hand out on the desk, as if she would like to give Rally a comforting touch. "Are you his victim? Darn that Smith—he's got the sensitivity of a rhinoceros—wait, it says he doesn't have any outstanding warrants?" The artist looked nonplussed. "What has Bean Bandit done?"

"Oh, plenty. But they want to make him into much more of a criminal than he is already—" Rally stopped. "Sorry. I'm not supposed to be complaining about this."

"I'm not an agent, you know," said Roberta. "I'm a freelancer. They bring me in for some special jobs, but I'm not on the FBI payroll." She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Don't worry about it."

Rally smiled faintly. "OK, I won't."

"What is this Bandit guy to you?"

"I...don't know. Not any more." She took a deep swig of coffee, which was just the right temperature. "You want the scoop? We became lovers last night. Screwed our brains out, right after I shot a drug dealer I was trying to bring in, and then Bean took half a million bucks from me and told me he'd kill me the next time I got in his face. You have a definition for that relationship?"

Roberta had paused with her own coffee halfway to her lips and seemed speechless for a moment. "...Holy crap."

"Now they want to get him into a secret organization of murderers so they can take credit for breaking it, whenever they might manage to get their stupid territorial concerns and ego squabbles put aside, while he is probably going to end up gutted like a fish and dumped in Lake Michigan when the murderers decide they don't need him any more, and I am going to get put in a cell with the female equivalent of Jeffrey Dahmer unless I jump through all the hoops that the Two-Gun Twins hold out for me, so even if I get to go home sometime this year, Bean will try to stick a bowie knife through my skull and I will try to cut him in half with a ten-gauge before he gets his hands out of his pockets, but not before asking him whether every man who's just had the present of a woman's virginity reacts quite that badly when he realizes that maybe she isn't going to fall down and worship at the Temple of the Oversize Cock, even when she had three orgasms and was beginning to think that she'd actually been missing something, though it was scarier than anything else I've mentioned to find out that a hard-case, rough-trade man like that can get so mushy on such short notice. May the best one win." She drained her coffee.

Roberta's blue eyes had gone huge and round, and she blinked them several times. "Oh."

"You want to get started?"

"Uhhh...sure. Hey, I'm a professional." She reached into her desk drawer and took out a flask-size bottle of Jim Beam. "Want a drink? Goes fine in coffee." She poured from flask and thermos.

"Bottoms up." They clinked foam cups.

"OK, I have the basics here—big man, muscular, black hair." Roberta turned to her computer and clicked her mouse a few times. "Rally, I'd like you to conjure him up for me. What do you call him?"

"Just Bean."

"OK, think about Bean. Imagine he's standing right in front of you." She dimmed the lights in the office, leaving the computer screen as the main illumination on her small round face. "Look at him carefully. Recall as many details as you can. See him as sharply as possible..."

Rally bit her lips. "All right."

"Bean can't see you," said Roberta softly. "It's one-way glass. He doesn't know you're looking at him." Rally let out a breath, the tightness in her chest easing. "That's it. He will never know you saw him. Us girls are checking him out together."

"Heh...OK."

"He's part Asian?"

"So they tell me. It's not immediately obvious, though it had occurred to me once or twice...he's got the coloring."

"So what impression does he give you, overall?"

"Big. That's the first thing you notice; his height and the width of his shoulders. Then his hair and his jaw. He startles people—the first time I saw him, I was in a crazy firefight. I'd almost been killed, I was wounded and I was pretty jazzed. But the moment he came into view, all my attention went his way."

Rally stopped, shifting awkwardly. This seemed so personal. Describing Bean to someone else, even a sympathetic ear? She had the feeling of describing out the contents of her own head, a secret compartment of her personality; the version of Bean she carried around with her, built up over many months of turbulent acquaintance, a great deal of thought, and a few days of chaotic anger and passion. She blushed, recalling details she didn't want to think about at that moment.

"Good. Now, tell me...about his hair. How does he wear it?"

"Long."

"OK. How long?

"Seven or eight inches."

"Good. Please, give me all the details you can think of. Nothing's too small. Just keep talking until you run out of things to say. You won't bore me."

"Ah—all right."

"So about his hair...?"

"It's thick...and very black. Dead black and straight. It goes a little past the base of his neck and kind of tapers off...it looks like he cuts it with a knife when it gets in his eyes."

"Does he comb it back or part it?" Roberta was jotting notes.

"He combs it straight back, unless he has his headband on."

"Headband?"

"Yes. It's a couple of inches wide and it ties in the back. Bulletproof—it's saved his life more than once. All his hair stands up by itself when it's on. Like a horse's mane. A little messy."

"All right. Good. Now look at the shape of Bean's face. Is it more round or more rectangular?"

"Um...kind of a long rectangle. He has a really big jaw—long, not wide—and a little bit of underbite."

"Bony, fleshy...?"

"More on the bony side...his cheekbones and brow ridges stand out."

"What's his nose like?" Roberta turned to her computer and started to click and drag the mouse.

"Sharp. Not very large. Depressed bridge. I guess that makes him look a little Japanese after all..."

"His mouth?"

"Thin lips. Close to his nose. He keeps his lips closed most of the time. When he gets roused up, his teeth show."

"Any teeth missing or crooked?"

"No, they're straight—like a fighting mastiff's. Very white and sharp. Scary."

"He looks mean?"

"Well...um, maybe. Sometimes he does, sometimes he's just...impressive. I'm not sure..."

"Whether he's a mean guy?"

"Yes." Rally swallowed. "I mean, last night...first he was callous about what had happened, with the drug dealer, and then he tried to comfort me, you know, in his way. I hurt his feelings when I screamed at him, but he didn't take it out on me. He just left and got drunk. Then he...he..."

"...What?" asked Roberta softly.

"He made love to me. I begged him to because I was so upset. He was so...tender. It surprised the hell out of me."

"That he had that in him?"

"Yes."

"And then he threatened to kill you?"

"When he found this suitcase of cash that someone stashed in my car. I still haven't figured exactly when...but Bean decided I must have been trying to steal it from him, and he turned into...some kind of monster. I thought he was going to throttle me right there. He looked like a demon. I was so shocked I could hardly fight, or even think. I thought the worst things I'd ever heard about him had to be true...but now I'm not sure again. He didn't actually hurt me, you know." Rally rubbed her throat. "I mean, here I am. He could have killed me with his bare hands, but he didn't."

"That makes all the difference, sure," said Roberta, and smiled. "Ears?"

"Huh?"

"His ears—what are they like?"

"Oh, um...big and round. They don't stick out much."

"Eyes?"

Rally closed her own eyes. "Green and brown mixed. Deep set. The lids don't show."

"Does he have any epicanthic fold—you know, the flat skin over the eyelids that Asians have?"

"Not really, no. Like I said, you don't think 'Japanese' right away when you look at him."

"OK, good. How big are his eyes, in proportion to his face?"

"Not large or small. His eyebrows are very straight, and they slant a little bit. Solid black. He wears sunglasses a lot of the time, as if he knows the effect it has when he takes them off. There's something cold and sharp about his eyes. He can cut right through you."

"Hmm..." Roberta clicked and slid the mouse around, her eyes darting over the hidden screen. "What's the overall look of his face? Unusual? Average?"

"Not average. You'd notice him anywhere."

"Ah. Would you call him a handsome man? Well proportioned?"

"Uhh..." She felt her breathing catch. "Yes. Not pretty at all, not with that jaw, but striking. Masculine."

"Mm-hmm. And he has a scar over the bridge of his nose?" Roberta pointed to the ID sheet.

"Yes. It goes from about here to here." Rally indicated on her own face, drawing an X with her finger. "It's whiter than his skin, but it looks old and shallow. Someone put a mark on him with a knife."

"What color is his skin?"

"Umm...kind of light tan. Lighter than mine. Most people would take him for Caucasian."

"What's your background, by the way? Are you Indian?"

"No, my dad was Pakistani...is Pakistani." Rally looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "He married an Englishwoman. I was born in England."

"That's interesting. You don't have an accent, though...?"

"We moved to Chicago when I was a kid. I lost it pretty fast."

"Yes, you sound like a native. Does Bean have any accent?"

"An American accent...a working class guy. But you can't do a voice on this, can you?"

Roberta laughed. "No, I just like to get a complete picture, so to speak. Voices and faces tend to fit together, personality-wise. How does he sound—I mean, what is his voice like?"

Rally closed her eyes again. "Kind of deep and smoky. He burns about a pack of high-tar a day, and you can hear the cigarettes in his voice."

"He's wrecked it already?" Roberta looked at the ID sheet. "Only thirty or so?"

"Twenty-nine, I think. No, he hasn't ruined his throat. His voice isn't really harsh unless he's angry. He can sound gentle when he wants to, though he sure doesn't look it."

"Hmm. Does he wear a mustache or beard?" Rally could see something in the reflection of the monitor on Roberta's glasses, but all she could make out was a pair of eyes.

"No. His sideburns are long, about to the joint of his jaw, but he's clean-shaven otherwise."

"Stubble?"

"No. He must have been shaving, and he might not have much beard anyway. He's actually fairly well groomed, for a guy who always wears jeans."

"Not a grubby guy, huh?"

"He dresses like an outlaw, but he still looks like a professional, which is what he is. Keeps himself showered and his hair clean."

"How does he dress?"

"Jeans, T-shirt—white or olive drab, and his jacket. Black motorcycle boots, size fifteen."

"What kind of jacket?"

"A black leather one, armored—he's got several in slightly different styles, but they're always waist-length and have a lot of zippers. He turns back his cuffs on warm days—and once in the summertime I saw him with a sleeveless vest. His arms are just huge..."

"Does he look like he works out?"

"Probably. He's got some definition to his muscles." Rally had a sudden picture of Bean naked in the motel in Buttonkettle, mixed with the memory of the time she had hidden in his closet, and felt her face warm.

He hadn't taken much clothing off in her car the night before, but his body had still left a brand on hers. She crossed her legs, trying to push away the remembered sensation of Bean's hands on her breasts, her body rocking with his, his lips soft on her face and mouth. The recollections overtook her and she closed her eyes in mingled pain and sharp arousal, hugging her shoulders and digging her fingers into her flesh.

"Rally?"

"Sorry. I'm just...he...oh, God, it was only last night, and now he hates me. He was a wonderful lover. I still can't believe he could be so gentle, when I'd been so mean to him..."

"He must—" Roberta stopped. "Well, you know him better than I do. But it sounds like he was very attached to you."

"He was...he was a good friend…" Rally burst into tears. Roberta pushed a box of tissues into her reach and waited with a compassionate smile. Obviously she saw a lot of this kind of thing. "Sorry…"

"It's OK, Rally. I think I understand. I'm going to work on this—you've given me a lot to do." She turned back to the computer, and Rally blew her nose on a tissue. A few minutes passed in silence, Roberta clicking busily away.

"I'm going to give you the whole thing now," she said finally. "You have a great memory, Rally. Please fix him in your mind and then give this a glance. Tell me what's wrong with it." She swiveled her monitor around.

It was something like him, but— "Not enough jaw. It's longer than that."

Roberta clicked on a menu and made a selection. "Like this?"

"Bigger." The artist clicked again and dragged the jawline down. "Uh...bigger. There."

"OK." Roberta shook her head and gave an amused grunt. "That must precede him into the room by half a minute."

"Yeah, just about."

"OK, give me a minute here..." Roberta swung her monitor around again and worked for several moments. "So...maybe he's a mean guy, and maybe he's not." She seemed to be speaking to herself, and made an exaggerated fierce face, then slowly smoothed out her expression as she clicked and dragged, clicked and dragged. "Here." She swung the monitor back.

The face stared out from Roberta's screen, uncannily familiar, with a slight frown and a penetrating look in the eyes that seemed meant for her. Rally shivered. "Oh, my God."

"Close? Don't worry about hurting my feelings here. What doesn't match?"

"It's awfully close. Maybe...his hair flops over a little more. And the strands separate. His mouth's a little less wide, and the end of his chin squares off a little more." Roberta made the changes and the face moved slightly. "He's usually either smiling, just a little, or he's got a scowl, like he's thinking. His brows go down really low..." Sweat sprang out on her forehead as the face seemed to react to her presence. "That's him. That's Bean."

Roberta pressed a key, and the laser printer next to her monitor began to whine. "Here we go. Thank you, Rally, you're very observant." The printer kept chugging. "I can't recall the last time someone could give me such a good, quick description. Usually it takes hours and a lot of concentration."

"I guess I was paying attention." Rally finished her alcoholic coffee. "I didn't realize how much..."

"Can I ask a personal question?" Roberta took the printed picture, nearly life-size, and looked at it. "...Wow."

"Uh...what kind of question?"

"Rally...how long have you been in love with Bean?" The artist had a sympathetic, rueful smile, and tucked the printout into the folder with the ID sheet.

"Whaaat?"

"Hasn't it occurred to you?"

"_No!"_

Roberta raised her brows. "You told me you slept with him."

"I was only...I felt awful about the deaths and I wanted someone to hold me. He was there! It wasn't because I was in love with him! And then he told me he'd KILL me! How could I love someone like that!"

The laser printer whined again and spat out a second copy of the portrait. "OK, Rally," said Roberta quietly. "I wouldn't want to have a case for someone like that either. He doesn't sound like a good guy to have around."

"I don't ever want to see him again, for all kinds of reasons."

"I have the feeling..." The artist rolled the page loosely, secured it with a clip and put Bean's portrait directly into Rally's hands. "I have the feeling...that you _will_ be seeing this face again, one way or another, for a long time to come. You might want this. It's not actually him, of course, since it isn't a photo." She picked up her phone. "I need an escort for a visitor, June." She put the phone down. "It's a picture of someone you hold inside your head, Rally. I've been doing mug shots for ten years and I've never seen anything like this one."

The man with a badge came to the door of the office, and Roberta touched Rally's shoulder for a moment. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

In the elevator, Rally began to unroll the printout. She got as far as the eyes before she thrust it into her jacket and hugged herself, the paper crumpling against the curve of her left breast.

* * *

"May, the next time I go to the Federal Building, I want you to come too."

"Huh? Why?" May took her soda from the counter of the sandwich shop and picked up her change.

"Because I would like you to practice a little petty larceny."

"That's redundant. What tiny thing do you want me to steal?"

Rally unwrapped her turkey sandwich and took a bite. "A folder." They headed out through the swinging glass doors and walked along the street towards the Sandpiper Inn. The mid-day sun shone brightly in between occasional clouds. Here and there remained a puddle or a backed-up storm drain from the rain that had passed through two days before.

"OK, that sounds easy to hide. How am I going to find it? Are they even going to let me in?"

"I told Smith last night that you knew Bean too and could give him some information. Think of something to tell him—it doesn't matter what."

"All right, I will. Can you tell me more about this folder?"

"I told you that Brown claimed he knew everything about Bean, right? Well, I think the FBI has his folder, with all the research he did. Brown said he had documents and clippings. I asked him for it on the night of the fire and he said that the Dragon assassin had it. I can't think of any reason he would have given it to that guy. I can't think of any reason he would have given it to the FBI, either, but since he obviously had a lot of contact with Smith and Wesson that he didn't tell me about, there must be one. And I heard something via Roy that only Brown and the Dragons knew before Brown told me." Rally smiled. "It's clear as crystal."

"Oooh! Everything about Bean? That'd be an interesting read!"

"No kidding. I would dearly love to see that folder. I think I spotted it on Smith's desk; it was thick and black. It wasn't new and it looked like it had been handled a lot. Wesson had a folder like that too, earlier in the day, so they must be passing it back and forth. It's bound to be in one office or the other."

"OK. This could be fun." May grinned. "I haven't done anything illegal for a while!" Rally rolled her eyes and drank some milk out of her little carton as they walked. "How's Roy doing?"

"He's arranged things with the Chicago department, so he's going to stay in San Francisco for a while too. He's officially detailed to work with the FBI now and when he goes home. He's not real happy about it. Seems having a city cop and an FBI agent in the same room tends to cause spontaneous combustion."

"From what you're telling me about Smith, I can see why. Are he and Wesson doing good-cop, bad-cop?"

"Not the classic style. Wesson threatens me with jail, but doesn't call me 'little lady'. Smith tells me gross stories about Vietnam and seems to have a sense of humor, unlike Wesson. I couldn't say which one I'm supposed to get mad at. It's kind of a toss-up." They arrived at the hotel and headed down the ramp leading to the parking garage. "Wesson is the one who thought I should do some lookout duty today. I guess they have to justify keeping me in indentured servitude. So I'm here from noon to six."

"No, _we're_ here!" said May. "I'll keep you company."

"Thanks, sweetie." Rally touched May's hair. "We can finish lunch in the car." The Cobra was parked on the first level again with the ramp in sight. "Then I guess I should put it someplace less conspicuous. But I like seeing some daylight while I eat."

They got in and reclined the seats, unwrapping their sandwiches all the way. Intermittent sunlight mixed with the bright fluorescents that lit the garage.

"Gosh, we can eat in the car today," said May. "I feel so honored!"

Rally gave a little groan, and they concentrated on lunch for a few minutes. A car drove down the ramp, and Rally sat up to examine it. A family with two children. She relaxed down into the reclined seat again. May finished her soda and wiped mayonnaise off her chin.

"So there are two agents on the fourth level watching Buff, huh?"

"Yes. I'm supposed to call them if I see him." Rally indicated a small radio that she had wedged into the console. "They gave me this to use." She clicked it on. "Hey, guys. Just testing."

"Hello, Ms. Vincent," replied a voice. "This is Agent Bui. I'm glad you're here, because I know you'll spot the guy with no trouble. We really appreciate your help, you know."

"Aw, gosh…" Rally felt a twinge of embarrassment. "No problem."

"We've got the controls for the exit gate right here, so when you call us, we'll close it."

"OK, but that might not do a lot of good."

"We'll see. Do you really have a Shelby Cobra GT-500?"

"Sure do. We're parked up top. Come and take a look if you like. I won't tattle."

She heard a chuckle. "No, I think Agent Smith would have something to say about that. Maybe I'll get a chance some other time."

"Sure thing. Over and out." Rally clicked off the radio. There was silence for a while. A car with two women left, and another car entered, with a lone man driving—a short black man.

"This could be a long afternoon," said May. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Uh…we have to establish a subject?"

"No, but I want to keep off subjects you don't want to discuss." May. She pulled in her lips and scanned the headliner. "Such as…"

"You want to talk to me about Bean?"

"Only if you want to."

"May…"

"I won't tell anyone else, if you don't want me to," said May quietly. "But honestly, Rally, I think you ought to talk about it." There was a pause. "OK, that's enough out of me. I'll shut up now."

"Good." They looked out of opposite windows. Another car came down the ramp, containing a young couple. "May, I know you're only trying to help. But honestly, don't. There's no reason—"

"I said I was shutting up, OK? I mean it. The only person I care about in this is you, and you have to do what makes sense to you." May produced a grenade and tossed it up and down. "What makes sense to me, on the other hand—"

"OK, you do what you want to! It's not like I'm going to stop you!"

"Yeah?" laughed May. "I almost wish he'd show up!"

"Hey, what's that?" Rally got out of the car to listen.

Deep below them, seemingly in the bowels of the earth, a roar began. A tremendous crash, and the building shook. "Oh fuck! It's an EARTHQUAKE!" chattered May. "And here we are in the BASEMENT!" The roar went on and grew louder. "Ahhh! Let's run for it!" May jumped out of the car.

"Just a sec!" Rally darted forward and looked down the ramp to the next level. Echoes off concrete walls notwithstanding, she knew that sound. _KRAKKRAKKRAKKRAK_ rattled above it, the sound of two ten-millimeter FBI service weapons discharging at once. The gate started to go down.

And the roar came around the corner with a shrieking, fishtailing skid of tires and a bright red flash. Buff's nose straighened; the car launched up the ramp directly at her. She knew that this time Bean would not swerve to miss her.

The fluorescent glare on the windshield rendered it opaque, but as she threw herself aside to avoid Buff, she caught a glimpse of Bean through the side window. He had his headband on, his hair bristling in a serrated crest over his forehead, and the vicious look he threw her felt like a knife had hit her in the chest. But he gunned Buff up the ramp and crashed through the gate with a scream of rending metal. The bars flew like swords.

No time for thought, no time for plans—Rally ran to the Cobra and revved the engine in an answering roar. Her GT-500 could surely catch Buff, though her CZ75's 9mm rounds would have no effect at all on its armor.

"Wait for me!" howled May. She leaped into the Cobra and slammed the door just as Rally peeled out. She had to make an extreme left to get on the ramp, and May fell against the door, grabbing for her seatbelt.

"Hang on!" yelled Rally. "This is not going to be a Sunday drive!" The Cobra flew up the ramp and emerged into the street. Buff was just turning left. "OK, he's heading for the freeway northbound. May, tell them!"

May grabbed the radio. "He's northbound, for the freeway!"

"Ms. Vincent, keep on him if you can! He slashed our tires! We're calling the SFPD and the Highway Patrol."

"You bet!" Rally took the left with tires squealing. "Make sure they know I'm a pursuit vehicle! May, tell them our license number!"

"Illinois, BRD-529! Bravo Ransom Duke five two nine!"

"There he goes! He's heading up the on-ramp!" Rally swerved around a line of cars and followed. "Highway 280, north!" Bean was weaving in and out of moderate traffic and accelerating. "He's doing about eighty—make that ninety." She speeded up to match him, rolling left and right just as he had. "Damn, I wish I had a siren!"

"That road's going to go to surface streets in a mile," said the radio. "But it feeds onto the Bay Bridge—we're going to get all the squad cars in the area to converge on the approach!"

"Got it!" Rally dodged around a minivan and finally had a clear view of Buff. The thick glass in the back window obscured most details of the interior. Bean was only a silhouette, but she could see his hands yank the wheel to the right. He darted around a semi and accelerated again.

Rally kept to the left and sped up as well. They were doing a hundred miles an hour in city traffic now, angling down a long gradual ramp towards a flatter area.

Train tracks on the left, a long bay inlet on the right. Construction going on at the water's edge, and the main train station. She could see people moving across the road at a light about a mile ahead. "Oh, boy. This is going to get sticky in a few seconds." To the radio she said, "Coming down onto King Street. Going to pass the Caltrain station."

Buff emerged from behind the semi, right in front of the Cobra. And braked. She barely had time to swerve around him before she would have crashed straight into his back end. "Shit!"

"Man, he's playing for keeps!" May clung to the dashboard.

"You got that right!" Buff was a block behind them now, and took a sharp left. "Hey!"

"Northbound on Fourth!" May told the radio.

Rally took a left at the next street, Third. "Damn! I do NOT know this city!"

"Well, neither does he!"

"Oh, cripes, he spent the whole day on Tuesday scouting around! He's checked out all the routes!" hissed Rally. "Damn!"

They went under a group of overpasses, braking to avoid traffic in a district of street-level stores and multistory apartment buildings. She heard sirens, and a black and white crossed their path, heading east to the bridge.

"OK, OK—it's all a grid here, kind of northwest-southeast, and he was one block west of us. If he's heading to the bridge—"

She stopped and suddenly made a U-turn in the middle of a block.

"What are you doing?"

"He's not going to the bridge!" yelled Rally into the radio. "That car would have seen him!" She raced back to King Street and turned right, west. "He's taking the freeway south!" Up they went on the ramp again, Rally pounding the gas pedal into the floor. "May, tell them!"

"Rally says he's doubled back! 280 south!"

"I've got a map in the glove compartment! Get it out!" May found it and spread it out. "Tell me what's coming up!"

"This freeway meets another one in about three miles, then goes west for a while, then due south. The other one—101—goes straight south along the bay." May lifted the map and refolded it. "101 goes to the airport and beyond. 280 goes down the Peninsula and through open areas, then through Palo Alto and San Jose. They meet again in San Jose."

"OK, we took 101 up here from the valley. It's all city and industrial. It's a shorter route if he's only heading out to the valley again." Rally considered the question. "He might want to get back on I-5. That's a great place to go fast. But it's all by itself in the middle of nowhere. No place to hide. He'd be easy to catch that way. No, that's not it."

"There he is!" May pointed with a pair of binoculars in her hand. Buff was a distant red dot on the flyover ramps ahead. "Which one is he taking?"

"Looks like 280!" Rally got her speed up to over a hundred miles an hour again. Horns shrieked at her as she passed. "How'd he get into the garage? Oh geez, I bet he paid the black guy to let him hide in the back seat!"

"Not like he's short of money right now!"

"No shit!" Buff looked a little larger now. "Yeah, he's taking 280 west."

"280 west," repeated May into the radio. Rally took the ramp and passed the interchange. The traffic had thinned a little, and she pushed the car to a hundred and thirty.

"We've called the Highway Patrol," said the radio. "They're going to set up a roadblock right after John Daly Boulevard. There'll be spikes on the road."

"Don't bother! He's got run-flats—and I don't!"

"What will stop him?"

"That's a damn good question!" yelled Rally. "How about an M1 battle tank?"

"Sorry, no can do—but boy, I wish!" That was Smith patching in. "How you doing there, Miss Vincent?"

"I'm coming up on him." Buff was about two hundred feet ahead. "But I'm not getting too close! I'm just going to try to keep him in sight."

"That's wise," said Smith. "Don't want him getting hurt, you know."

"What? HIM?"

"He's important, Miss Vincent. Don't damage him."

"Thanks a whole hell of a lot!" screamed Rally. "I don't think he's the one who's in danger!"

"You're welcome. Just keep radioing in. We'll work on the rest."

"Rrrr…" growled Rally. She gripped the wheel and concentrated on her driving. Buff changed lanes occasionally, but didn't make any sudden moves for a few moments. Then Bean suddenly darted right and headed for an off-ramp.

"Ocean Boulevard!" reported May. Rally followed him. A red light popped up. Buff ran it, and so did Rally. She heard furious horns and screeching tires behind them. This was a hilly area, a large mass rising to her right, and Buff took a right onto a curving residential street.

They were doing about sixty in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone, and Rally tensed up, hoping nothing would appear on the street. Buff slowed and and took a left onto a larger road, then an immediate right.

"San Jacinto Way, just crossed Monterey," said May. "Heading uphill."

"Where's he going?" wondered Rally. The road ahead curved to the left, and she lost sight of him for a second. The next second, he came speeding back downhill at her, accelerating as he aimed for her left front.

"Aiighh!" She dodged to the right. "God! He's going straight for me!"

She saw Bean through the side window again as he passed inches away, his expression unchanged. Malevolent, almost a stranger. He roared past and stepped on the gas as she pulled into a driveway to turn around.

"God, he looks awful!" whispered May. "Did you see—"

"Yes, I did! That's what he looked like when he told me he'd kill me!" Rally followed Buff, taking a right after him.

"He looked that unhappy?"

"Unhappy? What about murderous?" This road curved as well, swinging right and then left. Buff gunned it up to sixty and kept going faster downhill. Rally followed suit, hanging a few carlengths back.

"He looks like he wants to cry," said May. "Monterey Boulevard—no, it's Santa Clara Avenue now. Crossing Portola Drive—geez, now it's Vincente Street."

"Are you nuts? That's Bean!" Buff took a hard left with a green light. This was a large, busy road with heavy traffic. Buff muscled its way in and forced through gaps to the right lane.

"South on Nineteenth Avenue," said May. "Passing Stern Grove."

"So he's going to try losing me in the crowd now," muttered Rally. "No way, Bean!"

"Yeah, I know it's Bean. I never saw him look like that before. I saw him looking murderous when Gray was fighting with him, but he didn't look like that."

"Fine, so he looks different!" Rally fought with the traffic to stay near Buff. "Why am I not seeing any cops?" she called.

"We're keeping them out of your way for now," said Wesson's voice over the radio. "We don't want him to realize you're in contact with us."

"Wonderful! When is that going to make a difference?"

"We're working on that."

"You do that!" Rally jammed on her brakes to keep from hitting the car in front of her. Buff was moving slowly as well, half a block ahead. They passed a large shopping mall on the right.

"Probably in less than a mile. The CHP officers who were at John Daly are moving up Highway 1—that turns into Nineteenth south of where you are. They'll block him, if he's still on that street, or they can cut him off on the side streets. Sit tight and wait."

Rally looked ahead. Buff was still moving through the traffic ahead. "Tell them to be careful. That car's armored, and he can bash through almost anything."

"We know. There are six of them, so he shouldn't be able to—"

"Hold on!" said Rally. "He's taking a left, just past the mall. It's a one-way, and he's going the wrong way!" She worked her way over and took the same turn, swerving around oncoming cars. Behind her was a thud and the sound of crumpling metal. "Oh great—we're causing accidents! Thanks a lot, Bean!"

"Denslowe Drive!" said May.

"The CHP are almost there. They'll come up the other way and block him," said Wesson. Sure enough, farther down the street, which ended in a T, came two CHP cars. Rally had just passed an intersection, and two more appeared behind her. "They're going to box him in, they say, and you're in the box." Two more cars came up behind the ones in front of them.

"Yes, they're here!" The CHP cars turned broadside in the street ahead of them. On the sidewalk, a woman with a stroller stared. Buff sped up and rammed the first CHP car, sending it spinning.

WHAM! It crashed into parked cars and bounced back into the street. Rally slowed down and avoided it, but Buff continued on, speed unimpaired, and hit the second car at fifty miles an hour. KRASSH!

Glass and metal smashed and buckled, and the second car went spinning as well. It nearly hit the stroller, but the woman turned and ran with it. Rally caught a glimpse of a little girl about two years old, looking frightened. "He's not worrying much about kids right now, is he?"

"Doesn't look like it." May grimaced. Buff hit the next two cars simultaneously as they tried to block the street nose to nose, and forced them around to the opposite heading. When he had cleared them, Bean leapt forward. A quick right turn, apparently heading back to Nineteenth.

Rally moved through the gap he had made and followed. "Well, that was a roaring success!" she said to Wesson. The last two CHP cars followed behind her. Bean had almost made it to the intersection when he suddenly slammed on his brakes. SKREE!

Rally, expecting a trick, swerved around him to the right and nearly hit a pair of children crossing the street before she slammed on her brakes as well. He'd stopped to avoid them. Buff reversed past her and rammed the CHP cars coming up behind them. Then, to her shock, he moved beside her, braked—and drove sideways.

"Aiigghh!" yelled Rally.

KRUNCH! Buff crashed into her left side and forced her up onto the sidewalk. The children watched openmouthed. She hit a tree with the right side of the car, pushing it flat, and skidded sideways, Buff shoving her into the side of a building.

"Damn! I forgot he could do that!" The children stood on the sidewalk directly ahead of her. She couldn't move forward to escape him.

"What's happening?" asked Wesson. "I can't raise the CHP!"

"Gosh!" Rally fought to reverse. "Can't imagine why!"

"He's rammed them all," said May. "I don't know if anyone's hurt—" SCRAAPE! The right side of the Cobra made a dreadful sound against the wall as Rally squeezed out from between it and Buff, driving backwards on the sidewalk. She popped out behind him and reversed onto the street. Next to the wall lay some bits of chrome, and the concrete blocks bore a wide blue scar.

"Oooh! He's messing up my CAR!" Rally's blood boiled. Buff accelerated forward and crossed the intersection, taking a left. He was heading to the freeway, and she hung on his tail, truly furious for the first time in the chase. "You're gonna pay for that!" she yelled.

"Left on Nineteenth! Passing Junipero Serra!"

"He's going to 280 again, then," said Wesson. "South, or east?"

"Don't know yet!" The traffic had loosened, and both she and Buff accelerated on a smooth straightaway, passing large apartment blocks on the right. They went under a bridge and began to descend a slope. The southern extent of the city rose in front of them, white houses on a dark green hill. "Where's the on-ramp for east? Ohmigod!"

Buff shot to the left across all lanes, taking an off-ramp the wrong way, but bore to the right and skidded its back end so that it faced east, crosswise on the ramp. And surged forward. Bean sailed over the railing and into thin air, landing on the westbound lanes twenty feet below him with a crash. Cars braked and skidded to avoid him.

"What's he doing?" asked Wesson frantically.

"He…he just got eastbound, on the wrong side of the freeway! I can't follow him!" Rally shot past the ramp Bean had used, looking for a way to take 280 east, but she couldn't see one. "How the hell do I get on 280 east?"

"You're past it! Get off the freeway and turn around!"

"Shit! I'll be ten miles behind him!" Rally aimed for the next off-ramp a mile down the road, then crossed the freeway on a bridge and took the on-ramp north. "OK, I see where to go. Darn, where is he now?" She roared up a flyover and took the freeway east.

"I see him!" May looked through her binoculars. "He's still in the westbound lanes!" Buff dodged head-on traffic far ahead, driving at the right-hand edge of the road. A concrete barrier divided the two sides, which looked too high for him to get over.

"Somebody say he's going the wrong way?" broke in Smith. "Yeehaw!'

"Pete!" said Wesson.

"The guy's got balls, at least! Man, this is getting interesting!"

"He's slowed down, dodging," said Rally. "I might be able to—" She broke off, peering ahead. "May, what's he doing?"

"Um…is that a flatbed tow truck ahead of him?"

"Yeah, in the right lane, there at the curve…oh, shit!"

"What?" said Smith excitedly.

"He's gonna use it to jump the barrier! Yeah, there he goes!" Buff surged forward as the freeway turned to the right, moving into the left lane. The camber of the road was sufficient for him to get two wheels up on the barrier at the edge of the freeway and gun the car forward, leaping into the air.

Buff landed on the flatbed, tires spinning. The road turned left again and a red streak rocketed forward at an angle, clearing the barrier between lanes and landing on the eastbound side.

The road was clear in front of him, and he accelerated so quickly Rally felt as if her car were standing still. The red car rapidly receded, though she jammed the gas pedal so hard her foot hurt.

"Where's he going to go from here? Back into the city, or south on 101?" Rally bit her lip in thought. "I'd bet the freeway! I'll keep chasing, but you guys might want to put up a more substantial barrier!"

"How're the CHP officers?" asked May.

"Alive, but some broken bones," said Smith. "Never mind them! How far behind are you?"

"About a mile and a half. I'm passing—"

"Alemany Boulevard," said May. "Buff's almost to the interchange."

"There are a bunch of motorcycle cops running breaks on 101 and 280 in the city," said Smith. "We're having the CHP barricade the feeder on-ramps and usher everyone off the road. You should have a clearer field in a little while."

"He took the southbound ramp," said May, shading her binoculars. "He's on 101."

"We're sending down a police chopper to help track him," said Wesson. "We're going to patch you in to them." The radio gave out a series of clicks, and a static-y voice announced a change in flight direction.

"Hello," said May. "This is May Hopkins, in the blue Mustang with white stripes. Can you see us?"

"Roger," said the pilot. "That's an affirmative."

"Look, Rally!" May pointed up through the windshield. "There it is!"

"There isn't a good spot for a block until further south," said Wesson. "We need some time, anyway." His voice cut out for a moment. "Yes, there's going to be a set of concrete barrier blocks in a while. I'll say when I know just where."

"You do that." Rally looked at her speedometer: creeping past 140, the highest number on the dial. "I'm going to be leaving the chopper behind in a while, I'm afraid." She took the southbound ramp.

"We'll worry about that," said the pilot. "We've got some oil on board—we are going to try to get ahead of him and dump it on the road. We can cut straight over the hill and the lagoon and get there sooner than he does."

"Worth a try! But tell me where so I'll be ready!"

"Roger."

"A pair of motorcycle cops are coming up on your tail," said Wesson. "They're backup, just in case."

"Oh, thanks! In case I try to hurt Bean?"

"You have the right to defend yourself within reason, of course. But I would remind you that without Mr. Bandit in the game, that agreement you signed is null and void."

"That's so damn encouraging, Wesson. You ought to go into the FBI recruiting division."

"Oil will go on the road just past Candlestick—I should say, 3Com Park," said the chopper pilot. "He may even go into the bay there."

"Don't think that you've seen the last of him if he does!" Rally came down a slope and saw the stadium ahead on the left, sitting on a point of land that protruded into the bay. Far ahead, passing the stadium, was Buff. The road was nearly clear now.

As she descended the hill, she saw the chopper hovering low, a spray of oil coming from it. Buff was only yards behind the chopper. Could he avoid the slick?

"He's spinning out!" said May. "He's off in the gravel!" Buff swerved to the left and stopped a few feet from the water on a slight downslope. The rear tires spun and threw gravel, skidding, then caught traction and sent the car up onto the road again. "Nope, he's recovered. But he's closer now!"

Rally steered to the right, veering off the road a bit to avoid the oil. "Yep. Not sure if I like that or not!" The chopper roared above her head and the motorcycle cops slowed to steer around the oil.

"There is going to be a roadblock in San Carlos," said Wesson. "That's about—"

"Twenty miles ahead," said May, refolding the map.

"That's a long way! Who says he's going to stay on the road that far?"

"That's the best we can do," said Wesson stiffly.

"OK, OK. San Carlos." Rally looked at Buff, about a quarter of a mile ahead on a long straightaway that ran between the bay and a large lagoon. Beyond that was a rise, crossing the saddle of a small mountain that sloped down to the bay. "What's coming up?"

She was leaving the motorcycles behind, her speed about one-seventy. The chopper had had a lead on her, but also began to lag. "Hoo boy. Once we pass that saddle, I don't think we're gonna have a lot of backup." Buff began to climb the hill.

"There's an industrial area next to the bay, then the airport. The road comes close to the bay again after that." May looked up from the map. "You know, Rally, if you get close enough, I could toss a couple of frag shells. That ought to do bad things, even to Buff."

"Yeah, I know." Rally reached over and turned off the radio. "You heard what they said. If he gets killed, or even maimed, I'm toast. We can't do that."

May looked at her with hard eyes. "If it comes down to us or him, I'm throwing 'em." She took a pair of grenades from her jacket. "Even jail is better than being dead."

"Sometimes! You didn't hear Wesson talking about putting me in the pen! I've got two deaths on my conscience—and maybe three."

"Three?"

"Nobody's called me about Larry Sam. I can only imagine the worst."

"You are going to have to stop beating yourself up about that," said May. "He did it of his own free will—and for money. It wasn't your fault."

"They probably found out because of what I told Brown! It IS my fault—"

"RALLY!" screamed May. They topped the saddle, and the chopper and motorcycles were far behind. Buff had been a long way ahead when they had seen it top the rise. But as they started down the slope, Bean braked and dropped to a position on their rear left quarter. "Oh, shit!"

"Ah!" Rally tried to accelerate and pull ahead, but Buff stayed with her. KRAASH! Bean rammed her and the Cobra shook with the impact. She held the wheel and straightened out, then hit the brakes.

Buff dropped back with her. In the rear-view she saw Bean's face through the windshield, a little obscured. But his grinning teeth were clear. KRASSH! He hit her again.

"May! Get down!" She pushed on May's head. "Get into crash position!" May bent over with her hands on her head, her rounded stomach keeping her from crouching very low.

"Oh, dear God. _Junior!"_

Her heart started hammering even harder than it was already going, and she accelerated again. Bean seemed to know her every move before she made it and his position relative to her never changed. "You might need those grenades after all, May!" The embankment on the left side of the road was steep, and fifty or sixty feet high. At the bottom were warehouses and scrapyards. "If he sends me into that…"

Bean moved to her right side and rammed her again. The Cobra jumped to the left and swerved dangerously close to the edge before Rally could correct its path. She breathed a prayer and pounded the gas as hard as she could. On this downslope she must be going one-eighty, but it was to no avail. Buff roared up alongside her and slewed to the left. KRAAASSHH!

"Aaagghh! Rally, what's going on—?"

"Keep down, May! He's trying to run me off the embankment!"

"Oh, shit..."

KRAAASSHH! Buff slewed into the passenger-side door again and the Cobra trembled, skidding sideways. Rally desperately pulled the wheel back to straighten the car's path. "Goddammit, he outweighs me by a thousand pounds, the bastard!"

"This is NOT a fair fight, Rally!"

"Yeah, that had occurred to me!" She braked slightly and dropped back, then rammed the wheel to the right, hitting Buff in the rear quarterpanel. The car fishtailed for an instant, but did not seem out of control for even a moment. "He's got me nailed..."

"I'll knock him out for you, Rally." May crouched in the seat well and brandished a grenade.

"All right, you win!" Rally braked again and managed to drop behind Buff. "But if he gets killed, the FBI will have my hide!"

"Even if it's in self-defense?"

"Especially then! I'm expendable!"

"Not to me, you're not!" May rolled down the window from her crouch, took a quick glance upwards while pulling the pin, counted down and threw. Rally jammed the brakes on and seemed to zoom backwards.

WHRAAKOOM! The grenade went off right next to Buff's driver's window. The heavy glass cracked and shrapnel scarred the paint. Bean braked and dropped back. Rally took a swift look and saw him snarl at her in his rear-view. "You dinged him, May! One more like that and he'll—"

KRAAASSSHHH! Bean completed his backward move and slammed his car against the side of hers. The Cobra skidded sideways again. He kept position, shoving her over to the left. They were approaching the airport and the embankment was much lower now, but her heart nearly stopped. SKREEEEEE! Her tires protested as they were forced sideways.

The left front wheel hit gravel, then grass. Bean whipped his rear end into her, and she lurched to the left and tore through the guard rail.

Rally kept hold of the wheel and managed to steer after a fashion despite the jolting, but the Cobra headed noisily down a slope, half slid sideways, and landed in a grassy plot at the bottom of the embankment. A used-car dealership's chain-link fence stood right in front of her, and she came to rest against it.

"Oh, my—May, are you all right?"

"Fine!" May straightened up, looking dazed. "Wow. Well, at least we didn't crash!"

"No, thank God!" Rally rested her head against the steering wheel for a moment. "Oh, my poor baby…" She patted the dash. "Mama didn't mean for you to get all bashed up again!" At least the car was still driveable, though she would need a winch to get her out of this little swale, unless she cut a hole in the car lot's razor-wire-topped fence.

Rally turned off the ignition and started to get out, but a pain in her right knee stopped her. "Ow!"

May climbed out and came around to Rally's side, which was almost against the fence. "What's the matter?"

"I think I hit my knee on the steering wheel! Ack—I can't straighten it!" She bent and started to massage it.

"Ruh-Ruh-Ruh—" May pointed at the top of the embankment. "RALLY!"

"Huh?" Rally looked up. "What is it?"

Buff. And Bean, who had just slammed the driver's door. She could see the crease from O'Toole's bullet under his headband. A long knife in his hand. And the expression in his eyes.

"Warned ya," said Bean, and started down the slope towards them.


	11. Chapter 11

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Eleven**

"Sure as shit, it's the airport," said Smith, jabbing a finger at a large map of the San Francisco peninsula on his office wall. "He's been busting for the airport this whole time."

"What would he do with the car?" asked Wesson. Several other agents stood around, chatting and kibitzing. One was on the phone, one was passing out cups of coffee.

Roy Coleman sat in the corner of the room, ignored by nearly everyone. He had his chin resting in both hands, which covered most of his mouth and beard, and he was muttering, "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women," over and over.

"Gonna ship it, naturally. She said he shipped it out here. So he drops it off at air freight—" Smith looked over at the agent on his phone. "You got that United freight office yet, Bui?"

"Not yet," replied Bui with a hand over the receiver. "I keep getting automated message systems." He shook his head, then started speaking. "Yes, the FBI. That means I want to talk to a human being. No, don't cut me off—ah, crap."

"OK," continued Smith, "so then he strolls off to the terminals and gets on a flight. Maybe not straight home—he could fly to Milwaukee or Indianapolis or something and buy a car to take him to Chicago. He's got a cool half-million with him, so not a lot of obstacles in his way there. Make sense? We going to plan accordingly? I'll send a detail to the airport now." He grabbed his phone.

Several agents nodded, and Wesson got up. "I'm going to have them check that radio again. I don't know why it cut out. In the mean time…" He picked up his cell phone and dialed Rally's number. It rang ten times, and he clicked it off. "Huh. She might have it turned off, or she's dropped it…."

"Or she's dead," said Roy in a hollow voice. "May's with her, too." He looked haggard and pale under his beard. "She told me what kind of fighter he was. How can two young women hold off Bean Bandit?"

"Thought you said she could take care of herself," snorted Smith. "If she's such a tough broad, don't worry about her. If she isn't so tough, well, she shouldn't have taken up this line of work." He turned back to the agents. "OK, talk to the chopper. Ask if they've spotted 'em."

Gonzales, with the radio and a set of headphones with a mic, shot off rapid questions and narrated at the same time. "Yeah, last seen heading over San Bruno Mountain on southbound 101. You said that. This guy can't spot a car he's been following all over the map! So where the hell are they? Not on the road? Guess he thinks she put on wings and flew away, since the airport's right down the road. So either she's on the freeway, or she's on a surface street. Well, try it, then. Tell me soon."

He looked up. "He's going to look in South San Francisco. The industrial area north of the airport."

"What about Bandit?" said Roy. No one paid attention. He closed his eyes and cursed, then shouted, "WHAT ABOUT BANDIT?" Wesson shot a reproving look at him. "If he can't see the Cobra, what about the red car? Buff stands out like a—"

"_Buff?"_ cackled Smith. "Got an ear for a moniker, too, hey? I think I want to meet this guy!"

"Can't the chopper see him? For God's sake, ask!"

"No, of course they can't see him. They're out over the bay and turning around," said Gonzales. Everyone looked pityingly at Roy, who clenched his fists.

"He said he would kill her if she got in his way," said Roy with quiet desperation. "I think tailing him for thirty miles and calling in his location to the FBI, CHP _and_ SFPD definitely qualifies as getting in his way."

"She's got a gun." Smith shrugged and turned away.

"HE'S GOT A JACKET MADE OF BATTLESHIP PLATE!" shouted Roy again. "She only has a nine-millimeter and two smaller guns! _He_ can take a .44 magnum without missing a step! Will you, for God's sake, listen to me?"

"Cobra's not in the industrial area," said Gonzales, listening to his headphones. "The motorcycle cops are coming over the rise." He paused for a moment. "Yeah, they see the red car. It's parked on the left-hand shoulder, down the mountain a ways. Cops are getting closer—they're up to it. Holy crap!"

"What?" said everyone at once.

"Throwing knives. He took them down. Not dead, pilot thinks, but they're not going anywhere soon. His co-pilot's getting down the twelve-gauge."

"Hasn't that chopper got a rifle on board?" begged Roy. "Buckshot won't stop that monster!"

"He's firing… Guy shielded his head with his arms. Oh!"

"Huh?" said Smith.

"It's the Cobra. It's down at the bottom of the slope against a fence. Tires ripped the grass all the way down. He must've forced it off."

"Tire tracks all the way?" Roy grabbed a spare headset. "Maybe she didn't roll, then." He listened tensely. "Explosion? Oh, thank God! May's got her—" He broke off, seeing four FBI agents staring at him. "Um…" Roy smiled uneasily.

"What's the explosion?" said Smith.

"Uhh…he says…confetti? With pink smoke?" said Gonzales. The agents looked at each other in incredulous amusement. "What is she doing? Having a birthday party down there? Woah!" He took the headphones off abruptly, putting a hand to his ear. _"That_ wasn't a confetti bomb!"

Roy looked pained, but kept the headphones on. "A big explosion, with shrapnel flying. Halfway up the slope. Not right near Bandit, but in his direction." He bowed his head. "Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Blessed Mother Mary."

"I don't think they're gonna float down from above and form a cordon!" shouted Smith. "Those little gals planning to blow up my Roadbuster?"

Roy turned on him in fury. "When _that man's_ coming after them with the full force of his unholy wrath? I think they've GOT THE RIGHT!"

* * *

"Do it again, kid," said Bean with a ferocious grimace. "And do a better job this time. Ya already tossed a frag at my car. Throw the next one closer than _that."_ He shook shrapnel out of his hair and jacket, his face bleeding slightly from a few stings. Buckshot marks peppered his jacket.

One of the motorcycle cops cried out in pain, crawling along the road above and trying unsuccessfully to aim his service pistol. The chopper hovered low, blasting dust off the road and blowing Bean's hair around like a tornado, and the co-pilot took aim at him again with the Ithaca twelve-gauge.

BABOOM! Pellets hit the dirt near him as Bean put up his collar and arms to ward them off. He whirled and threw his bowie knife. It crashed through the chopper's windshield and stuck in the cockpit bulkhead. The pilots yelled and took the chopper up again.

Rally crouched in the car, CZ75 drawn, and tried to take an uphill sight with trembling hands, her injured knee throbbing. Head shot. Her only choice was a head shot. Not too high or she'd hit only the headband. Not too low or she wouldn't get a vital spot. The first one had to take him down, because she wouldn't get a second. Like hunting a grizzly bear. Any wound short of mortal would only make him mad, and even with a mortal wound he might still live long enough to kill…

She stared at the top of Bean's head. Could she put it through the top of his skull, above the headband? That would do it—but too high, and it would only whistle through his hair. For the first time she realized why he so often wore his hair that way: a sprawling shock standing on end. With that dense black crop as cover, it was impossible to tell exactly where his skull ended and his hair took over.

"That was a warning, Bean!" shouted May from behind her opened passenger door. Since the car pointed slightly upslope, it provided her with fairly good cover, as far as that went. "I gave you the toy one first to prove I've got _all_ my stuff along. And the second to show I mean business! Just get in your car and drive away!"

"Uh-uh. I'm taking care of _my_ business first." He glanced over at Rally. "Why ain'tcha shot at me yet, Vincent? Don't tell me; yer hopin' for another nice big piece of me, right?" Bean adjusted his crotch and smiled in a manner that reminded her of O'Toole. "Well, you ain't gettin' it, slut. So go ahead and fire." He began to walk down the slope again.

"You _son of a bitch!"_ howled May. "I knew it!" She threw another grenade with all her force. It bounced off Bean's chest and fell to his feet. He kicked it down the embankment and it went off with a loud pop and another cloud of glitter and pink smoke. "Oops…" Rally made a quick mental inventory of May's jacket. She had no real grenades left!

"Yer old enough to play by the rules." Bean looked in May's direction as he approached with a deliberate pace. He shook his right arm; the switchblade appeared in his hand and he shot the blade out of the handle with an ominous 'snik'. "Don't think I'm gonna disinvite ya to this shindig!"

"You planning on demonstrating your way of getting angry with women at this shindig?" she yelled. "Try it on me, Bean! I'll bite it in half! I'll pull it out by the roots!"

Bean made a contemptuous, uncomprehending smirk and moved closer to Rally. "C'mon, you murderin' slut. Gimme your best shot." He held up the switchblade and beckoned.

That best shot would be one right between the eyes, as he'd said, but it was extremely difficult to look into those eyes and take a fix at the same time. "No. I am not going to start this, Bean. If that's one of your rules, we are not going to fight."

He looked slightly surprised. "Oh, I can get ya to shoot first, babe. Easy." Bean headed for May, chuckling. "Got any more party favors?"

WHOOM! May's grenade went off in the air right in front of his face. Rally saw a whitish cloud and no glitter.

"Ahchoo!" Bean sneezed violently, then again. "Ah…ah—choo!"

"What the hell was that, May?"

"Sneezing powder, of course! Get him while he's off balance!"

"But—"

"What the hell are you waiting for? He just taunted you about—what he DID! God, girl! Don't you want him DEAD!"

"I—" Rally sighted on Bean's head, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Can they get there in time? Tell them to hurry!"

"They're driving twice the speed limit on an empty freeway! Believe me, they're hurrying." Bui put his hand on Roy's shoulder. "I know you're worried. So are we all…well, maybe for different reasons."

He glanced at Smith, who was head-to-head with Wesson, both shouting into phones. "Ten SFPD squad cars! And a dozen more heading up 101 from Millbrae and San Bruno and Brisbane! He's going to have to beat it fast if he doesn't want to be arrested by every jurisdiction in twenty miles!"

Bui patted Roy's shoulder again and picked up the radio headphones as Gonzales relinquished them. "OK, they're hovering. Got off another buck load, but he's too close to the girls now—uh, hard to tell what's happening. Some kind of cloud around his head? They hear gunshots—muzzle flash from her nine-millimeter. Hey!"

Bui turned to Roy, his eyes scanning as he listened. "He's down, he's down—no, he's up again. Lurching around like he's drunk. What did she do?" He listened again. "Shot at his head—OK, she aimed for the headband. Good idea. Yes, sir, Agent Smith, she's trying not to kill him."

He did a thumbs-up and listened for a moment. "Wait! He's recovered! Oh, there he goes! He's grabbing the little blonde one!"

* * *

"MINNIE-MAY!" screamed Rally. She grabbed her door and vaulted out of the car. Landing, she put all her weight on the injured knee and fell, snapping the CZ75 into a two-handed grip as she hit the grass. "Oww! BEAN! LET GO OF HER, OR I AIM A LITTLE HIGHER!" The chopper swooped low again and landed on the road, the pilots tumbling out with their shotgun.

Bean had May hoisted up with one hand seizing both of hers, her legs frantically kicking. Blood ran down his face from under his headband where her bullets had hit, and he held his switchblade to May's stomach, his eyes still a little unfocused.

Rally let out a silent scream, horrified beyond measure. The baby!

"Come and—AHCHOO!—get me, babe! 'Less you want me to—ahCHOO!"

Bean stopped and looked at May's midsection, about level with his eyes. Rally saw his expression change as he blinked. Apparently he had forgotten until that moment that May was pregnant. He glared at Rally, accusing her with his expression of using May's condition as a shield, sneezed and tossed May down, not very roughly.

Leaving her where she was, he came toward Rally, bending over for a sneeze every few seconds. "Guess you get _all_ my—ah, ahCHOOO!—attention, babe. Why'd you bring her along on the tail? AH—CHOO!" He pressed a finger hard under his nose. "Just to—ah, ah, CHOO! Shit!"

"May came along on her own hook!" she shot back at him, scrambling backwards and prone on the damp grass towards the fence as he advanced with the switchblade glinting in his right hand. "Why did you go bashing my car while she was riding in it, you moron?" She backed up to the fence and aimed her CZ75 up under his jaw as he loomed up and stood over her. "You wrecked my bodywork so bad it's gonna take a MONTH to get fixed!"

"Speakin' of—ahCHOO!—bodywork, babe—" Bean began with a dirty snarl, shifting his grip on the knife. Rally's finger tightened on the trigger. Suddenly he jerked forward, his face registering shock. "Hey!"

May had landed square on his back with a running leap, and wrapped her arms and legs around his neck and face as hard as she could squeeze. "Knock it off, kid!"

He turned around and around, spinning away from Rally and trying to dislodge May as she jammed her fingernails in his eyes and pulled hard on one corner of his mouth. "OW! AHCHOO!"

Bean jerked forward and back with the violence of his sneezes and with May's seesawing movements. She got a thick hunk of black hair in her teeth and flung her head back and forth like a puppy shaking a toy. "HEY! OUCH! Ah, ah, CHOO! Aw, shit…!"

May grinned with her mouth full of loose hair, then spat it out and snapped for more. The chopper pilot waved the shotgun, obviously hesitating for fear of hitting May.

"Ah…ha…" Rally, although terrified for May, began to laugh hysterically at the sight. The mighty Bean Bandit, rendered helpless by a cloud of sneezing powder and little May's ferocious attack! "Bwaah-haa-ha-ha-ha!"

_Weeeooooooooh…_

_Waaaooooooooh…_

_Weeeooooooooh…_

_Waaaooooooooh…_

_Weeeooooooooh…_

_Waaaooooooooh…_

About a dozen patrol cars and an ambulance arrived on the embankment above them, in various badge colors and makes. May fastened her teeth on one of Bean's ears. "HEY!" he kept yelling, swatting at her with his left hand and holding the knife out at arm's length when she tried to grab it.. "Goddamn little monkey! Ah--choo! Ah…ah…ahCHOO!"

"Bwaah-ha-ha-ha-haa!" spluttered Rally. Police officers swarmed down the embankment, yelling and drawing weapons. Bean registered their presence, then suddenly lashed his whole body and shook May off in Rally's direction.

May hurtled through the air, hit Rally in the stomach and knocked them both into a heap against the fence, and Bean raced up the embankment toward his car. Police officers bowled over as he shoulder-slammed, stiff-armed and tossed them aside.

_KRAK KRAK KRAK KRAK_ went a bevy of service automatics. More bullet scars appeared on Bean's jacket, but he threw off the last officer and leaped into Buff. The engine roared and Bean took off southwards, knocking one patrol car aside and rolling over the hood of another one that tried to block his path. Half a dozen took off after him, as did the chopper, and approaching cars made U-turns to follow.

"Oh, May! You were so BRAVE!" Rally threw her arms around her friend in time to see her face turn color and her eyes bug out. "Oh boy! Lean over!" She held May's head while she fertilized the grass with her lunch.

"No, she's fine," Rally assured the approaching officers, patting the sweaty blonde hair. "Just a little morning sickness… Yeah, I know, it's afternoon!"

* * *

"Wish I'd barfed on HIM," grumbled May, taking a water bottle from a policewoman. "Eww, gross! I'm still picking his hair out of my teeth!" An SFPD tow truck was easing the Cobra up to the road, and the injured motorcycle cops were loaded into the ambulance, which drove away north, sirens going in spite of the emptied road.

"You sure you girls aren't hurt?" said the policewoman. "I saw that guy throwing cops around like paper dolls! What a monster!"

"No, we're OK, thanks to May," said Rally. "What a Warrior Princess you are, sweetie!"

May rinsed and spit, then took a deep drink, smiling at Rally. "I'd've eaten him raw without salt for you, honey! Too bad all he lost was a few chunks of scalp!" May looked fierce and made some kung-fu chops in the air, then stopped and fished another long black hair from the back of her throat. "Gross!" She hacked and took another drink.

"There's a Detective Coleman asking after you two," said an officer, handing her a radio handset.

"Roy!" said Rally into the radio. "Don't worry; we're fine! May's a spitfire!"

"Thank God," said Roy, sounding monumentally relieved. "They tell me he came right at you with a knife! Do you think—"

"You know, Roy, I'm not certain about that." Rally creased her brow and looked south along the road the way Bean had gone. "When May jumped on him, he wasn't aiming to stab me. I think…he might have meant to put a mark on me. Sort of like the one he has."

"An X on the face? Holy name!"

"Something. Like another warning, or a…I don't know. I was scared, but I didn't have the feeling he was actually going to just _kill_ me, no matter what he said."

"Maybe not this time! But perhaps he's just working up to it—"

"Yeah, that's a comforting thought! Where is he now? They still chasing him?"

"Uhh…they lost him."

"Oh, fine!"

"Yeah. Somewhere between…uh, the airport and the San Mateo bridge. They blockaded the bridge for a while, but no dice. He never showed up at the roadblock in San Carlos, either, so he must have gone off the freeway westward into the suburbs somewhere before that. He'd left the chopper behind and wrecked most of the cars pursuing him. They'll be cleaning up the freeway for hours. The whole Bay Area's going to have the traffic jam of the century—no, the millennium!"

"Sounds like it! Oh, there's my car!" The Cobra emerged at the top of the slope and the winch eased down until all four tires sat on the road. "The damage's not too bad this time, at least to the working parts…oh, man, look at that scrape!"

The right side was nearly bare of paint on the door and badly dented, with traces of Buff's red color here and there. Compared to it, the left side didn't look so bad, though it too was dented.

"Well, at least Bean took a little punishment, too, because May got off one good shot at the car. She's a hero!"

"Oh, uh…if she's got any more grenades…"

"Only the toy ones. She used up all the frag bombs. I don't think anyone's going to get technical today!" Policemen hovered awestruck around May as she retold the whole fight, baring her teeth and shadow-boxing. "But I know what you mean. We'll be careful. OK, I'm going to head south." She got out her keys.

"What?"

"I want to check out the road. I might get some idea where he's gone."

"Oh, my…well, OK, I guess that's what the FBI would want you to do. You're going to take some cars with you, I hope?"

"Sure I will. I'm not stupid! Talk to you later, Roy." She handed back the radio and called, "Who wants to escort me for a while? I'm going to scout the road." Three burly cops leaped in her direction, grinning, and she gave them an OK sign. "Thanks, guys! I'm going to feel _totally_ safe!" She turned to May. "Ride back with one of the Frisco cars, honey. I think Junior's had enough excitement for one day!"

"Awww…well, OK. Good thing he actually gave a damn about the baby!"

"Yeah…" Rally got in her car and considered that. Bean hadn't lost every sense of principle. He'd put her and May on his shit list; that didn't make him a different person. She had seen the face he showed to enemies…in a way.

As May had said, Bean looked miserable under the ferocity. This wasn't a fight he relished, in the way he liked to dust it up with almost anyone else. That might be the only reason she had no injuries other than a stiff knee. His heart wasn't in this.

Rally closed her eyes for a moment, mind in turmoil. If Bean only found out that she hadn't stolen the money, he would probably have no more reason to continue this apparently unwelcome feud. She thought he wished, very deeply, that he didn't have to uphold his honor this way. But he'd believed it of her so easily. Could she ever forgive him for that, if he ever asked her for forgiveness? She had no idea.

"We going?" asked an officer, rapping on her window.

"Yeah," said Rally, smiling and starting the engine. "Let's roll!"

* * *

"You all right, May?" Roy put down his slice of pizza.

"Me? Just great. Fine and dandy, thanks." She grabbed a slice of pepperoni and bit fiercely into it. "Man, I'm starving! Wasted a whole sandwich! Thanks for having this waiting for me!"

"That chase shake you up? I gather this hasn't been the kind of vacation you anticipated." Roy got up and fetched May a glass of water from the bathroom of his hotel room, then sat by the table where they ate, a takeout box between them.

"No, it hasn't been," said May through a mouthful. "Though I had some fun tossing poppers at Bean! But missing amusement parks is one thing. THIS stinks." She put the pizza slice down and rested her chin on her hands.

"Brown? Yeah, it stinks."

"Brown..."

"You were thinking of something else?"

"…Bean."

"I hear you used to like Bean all right. I'm sorry he turned out to be…"

"I used to, yeah..."

"I gather this was in character for him, though. Walking off with the suitcase. Forcing you off the road. And going for Rally."

"Maybe."

"Minnie-May?"

"Oh...nothing." She poked at her slice of pizza and peeled off one piece of pepperoni. "I thought I knew something about him, but I guess I didn't."

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh, Roy..." Her eyes began to fill.

"Hey, kid." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Ol' Roy's here. We'll figure this out. Rally's not sunk, not by a long shot. The FBI will see reason."

"Yeah, whatever."

"What on earth is getting to you, May? Something about Bean?"

"I should have stuck with her on the job—getting Brown. I should have insisted on going along. Then this wouldn't have happened...or at least I could have done something to prevent it! I wouldn't have been snoring away in a hotel room while she was all alone out there..." She slumped into her seat, rounded stomach protruding.

"Alone?"

May sat up and sniffled into the back of her hand. "Roy, you know something about criminals. How do you tell what kind of crimes they're capable of? I mean...are there some guys that won't do certain things even though they'll do anything else? Or is a criminal just a criminal?"

"Uh..."

"I mean, take Bean for an example. Would you think he was capable of hurting someone...like someone he knew, who was a friend? Just to be an asshole, if he got mad?"

"I don't know Bean that well, May. I can't say I'd put much past him, though. I mean, look at what he did today."

"I didn't think so."

"I know he tries to protect children. That's common among men of his stripe. Beyond that, I doubt he draws the line—Rally told me he intended to kill Brown at first. A man who's capable of cold-blooded murder is probably capable of most other crimes."

May nodded, her expression grim.

"What do you think he's done, kid?" Roy's voice was quiet, but his eyes were hard.

"I don't have any _real_ proof, Roy."

"What do you have, then?"

"Just...a smell. He sort of admitted it today…yeah, I'm sure he did. And she wouldn't tell me what happened. I know she's holding something back."

"Yes?"

"Oh, God, Roy. I think Bean raped Rally."

The detective's face went pale as his eyes widened. "Holy name."

"I smelled something in her car. She seemed really disturbed when I asked her what happened after he found the suitcase. I'm positive _someone_ had sex in there recently, and it's a little hard to imagine who else it could have been. And it's impossible for me to imagine that she did it of her own free will."

"May..."

"What? You don't think she--"

"She liked him, May. Before all this happened. You didn't see them together, did you?"

"N-no...but she's not the kind to get physical! She was OK with him for a while when he was a good sport about the bet, but then she got mad when he asked her to go partners! She's been torqued off at him for months."

"She wasn't a couple of days ago. She was laughing and joking with him."

"Really?"

"I'm afraid so." Roy made a face. "I warned her about that. Um...I overreacted, in point of fact. It looked to me as if they were already lovers, but Rally assured me they weren't."

"She told me the same thing Tuesday evening. I was teasing her about him and she blew her lid. And, um, Roy, you might not know this about her..."

"Huh?"

"She's a virgin. Or...she was."

"May, that's none of my business—"

"It is if Bean attacked her when he found the money in her car! It doesn't matter if she thought she liked him! He could still get angry and HURT her!"

"You have a point." Roy's face darkened. "What's your evidence?"

"The smell in her car. It smelled like him in there, Wednesday evening, as if he'd been exerting himself and sweating. That would have been only about eighteen hours later. _And_ it smelled like semen."

Roy's face grew even darker. "Go on."

"Well, I didn't see anything on the upholstery or anything like that. But his driving gloves were under the passenger seat. And she acted so strange when I mentioned it...I shouldn't have just blurted it out like that! She had bruises on her arms and on her back and chest the morning after the fire—plus really bad ones around the wrists. Someone with big hands held her so tight she got his fingerprints on her skin. I helped her shampoo, and there was a monster goose egg right on the back of her head. That would have been a blow hard enough to stun her, and...um…well, you're a police officer. I can tell you."

"Go on."

"She was sore between her legs—her vaginal entrance was swollen and tender. I know that for a fact, Roy. She denied that he'd done anything to her. I know she's lying. Bean said something when he was waving that knife around, about giving her another nice big piece of himself. And he grabbed his crotch when he said it."

Roy gritted his teeth, his breath rasping. "You think she'd shield him if he actually had raped her?"

"She's very independent. There are all kinds of things she doesn't tell me. She might think it will just go away if she ignores it. She might not want to admit that she made a mistake trusting him and that you were right, that he was dangerous. She might be ashamed that she was ever that vulnerable."

"Why wouldn't she just have pulled a gun on him, if he threatened her?"

"I don't know. But if he was determined, she would have had to kill him to stop him. Maybe she couldn't bring herself to do that."

"What?" Roy looked disbelieving, but it mixed with dawning horror. "If a guy like that came at me with violent intentions, I wouldn't think twice about killing him. It's not like she's a novice at this."

"She hated the fact that she'd killed Huang and that all those people were dead, including Brown. Maybe she couldn't face killing someone else that night. She's known Bean for a long time, and if you're right, maybe she did like him. By the time she sorted all that out, it could have been too late to do anything to stop him. If he disarmed her, he could do anything to her that he wanted to do—I mean, look at him. Rally's fast and strong, but that man's a monster."

Roy put a shaking hand on his lowered head, then over his tautening lips for a moment. "This is all speculation, kid."

"I know it is. But you believe me anyway, don't you?" May started to cry.

"There's no physical evidence by now." Roy's face was stiff. "The FBI went all over the car last night and surely destroyed it, if there ever was any, and she didn't have an exam at the time, obviously. I couldn't arrest anyone on this. Especially if the victim denies that the crime ever took place. He knows her, he was angry with her, they were all alone. It sounds like a perfect scenario for a retaliatory rapist, but that's psychiatry and not evidence. It wouldn't stand up in a court of law..." His face contorted, tears of helpless fury starting in his eyes.

"You are not a judge or a jury."

"No, I'm not." Roy reached into his jacket, took out his .38 Special and laid it on the table with deliberation. "I'm a cop. God save me from becoming an executioner." He crossed himself and folded his hands in silent prayer.

* * *

"Dear God, what a mess…" sighed Rally, looking around at the wreckage of half a dozen SFPD cars that spread over the highway south of the airport. "How'd he do it?"

"D-damn, lady," said a shaky young patrolman. "I thought I was gonna lose bladder control! He slipped right in among the pack and started bashing side to side…he forced me to crash into O'Neill and White, and he sent Nguyen off the road and into the soundwall. Then he stopped short and let Lieutenant Nakamitsu plow right into his back end, and Beltran hit the lieutenant's car…and _he_ didn't look even dented! What _is_ that car, anyway? Some kinda CIA secret weapon?"

"He had it built for him." Rally shook her head, then did a double take. "Oh, my God! _That_ Officer White!" She dashed over and jogged alongside a stretcher two paramedics were rolling to an ambulance. A tall blonde officer lay strapped to a backboard, his forehead scraped and bloody; one of the San Francisco patrolmen who had responded to the call at the Eight Dragon Delight. "Oh, no! How badly is he hurt?"

"Might have a couple of broken vertebrae," said one of the paramedics. "His car went straight into the ditch. Too soon to know if he'll have any paralysis."

"Is that Rally Vincent?" said White weakly.

"Yes, it's me. How are you doing?"

"Just get that guy, OK? He's a menace. No, he's insane. Why doesn't he like you any more?"

"Long story, Officer." The paramedics loaded the stretcher into their van, folding the legs up and sliding White inside. "I'm going to get him, all right. If it's the last thing I do." Rally watched the doors close and the ambulance drive away. Flatbeds were loading the black-and-whites and hauling them away, but glass and metal lay strewn in every direction. When she got back into her Cobra, she had to pick her path carefully to avoid a flat. Her three-car escort followed.

Rally continued south on 101, her view obstructed by soundwalls in the residential areas. High-tech companies and dot-coms in new office buildings lined the road elsewhere, obscuring the mountains to the west and the bay to the east. Further south the highway was open to traffic, and jammed solid. Even the police sirens, intermittently fired off, couldn't open a path.

Rally crept along in bumper-to-bumper between two squad cars with another flanking her on the right, wondering what the fuming motorists around her would do if they knew she was one of the causes of the backup. String her up to the nearest Caltrans sign, probably!

Her radio crackled. "Miss Vincent? They tell me you're scouting the freeway the way he went. Glad to see you're showing some initiative."

"Gosh, Agent Smith, I felt I'd participated so little, only following him for a few miles and getting run off an embankment! The whole time he was coming at me with a knife, I was thinking, man, I'm just not doing enough on the FBI's behalf today!"

She heard a snort and low chuckling. "Frankly, I'm impressed. How you little ladies got away from that guy passes me. What, did you start crying or something?"

"No. I don't cry, Agent Smith. It doesn't accomplish much. I'm stuck in traffic right now, somewhere in Burlingame. I'd take a surface street, but according to the local news station, they're all congested too, since people are working around the 101 southbound barriers on other routes and making it back on the freeway north of here. I don't know the roads anyway. He went this way, so I'm going this way."

"Oh, he must have doubled back. We figure he's trying for the airport."

"The airport? Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Smith sounded smug. "He'll ship the car—we have an alert out at the air freight offices—and then hop a flight east. There are agents at every check-in desk. So I'm afraid you're stuck in the jam for nothing. Better turn around…if you can." He chuckled.

"No. He doesn't fly."

"What? It's the best way out. It's plain as day."

"Agent Smith, he told me he never flies. He hates the very idea. He doesn't fit in the seats."

"We've got this all set up." Smith sounded impatient and resentful. "Everything's in place. Agents swarming the terminals."

"That's right," Wesson broke in. "We planned this all very carefully, Ms. Vincent. Please recall that we are experienced agents, not bounty hunters. FBI training—"

"Well, I'm sorry you went to all that trouble. If you'd asked me—"

"You'd have given us your advice," said Smith. "Fine, you've given it. If you want to go on a wild goose chase…or crawl…you can do that. Hope you get back in time for the snatch."

"You made me sign my life away for this? So you could dismiss what I tell you?" Rally's face felt hot, and she had never hated Smith, Wesson and even the FBI more than at that moment. "What on earth did you want my expertise for, if you don't even care about what I know?"

"Calm down, sugar. Do I hear some tears there? We'll see you sometime this evening, I guess. Have a nice drive." Smith signed off.

"OOOOooohh!" gasped Rally. "That chauvinist pig ASSHOLE! That self-righteous know-it-all!" She made horrible faces at her rear-view mirror and thumped her forehead on the steering wheel a few times. "I wish it was THEM Bean wanted to slice up and kill! I'd like to see THEM scrambling on the grass away from a huge guy with a switchblade! It's a looong time since SMITH saw combat! He'd probably have browned his JEANS! OOOooohh…"

She eventually calmed down by imagining Smith running and screaming like a woman while Bean carved Wesson into bite-size pieces and ate them off the end of his knife. "Heh heh heh…OK, that's enough of that! Take out the aggression on the job at hand!"

"OK, this is San Mateo?" she asked her radio, which she had tuned to the patrol cars's frequency. "There's another bridge across the bay in a few miles, isn't there?"

"Yes, ma'am. They had a blockade set up on the eastbound approach until a little while ago."

She peered at a slowly passing road sign. "So you take the off-ramp for Highway 92 east to get to the bridge. Where does 92 go, westbound?"

"Over the mountains and to Half Moon Bay and the beaches. About fourteen, fifteen miles to the coast. Nothing much over there but the ocean and a lot of artichoke farms."

"Hmm…" Rally examined the buildings to her right; the city rose up foothills that reached a crest a couple of miles from the highway. "You know, if I wanted to wait and see if I was going to get stopped on this bridge, I might take the road in the opposite direction and find a place on those hills where I could watch with binoculars. Yeah, looks like some good lines of sight from there. I'm taking 92 west for a little while…if I can get over to the right in time! Sheesh!"

Even a driver of Rally's caliber had trouble squeezing through the monstrous traffic, and by the time she reached the 92 off-ramp, the afternoon was wearing on. She sighed as she inched up a high flyover on the way to 92 west, surrounded by police cars. Bean was probably long gone. She wouldn't get a chance at him until she got back to Chicago. "OK," she told the officers. "It's probably too late now. We can turn around as soon as it's possible."

She tapped her fingers on the wheel and fiddled with the car radio, trying to find a decent station. A few feet lower than the ramp she was on, eastbound 92 crossed 101 on another flyover on the way to the bridge, no more than twenty feet away. That too was packed solid with cars inching in the direction opposite to hers. She amused herself for several minutes by naming make, model and year on every vehicle she could see.

1988 Ford 5.0 Mustang, with sunburned paint. A brand-new 1999 Cadillac Eldorado, shiny and pearly. A 1972 Volkswagen Beetle, well-restored. A 1997 Thunderbird, a 1998 Mustang Cobra—no comparison, she thought—a 1995 Honda Accord. A black Hummer. Plenty of boringly new BMWs, Lexuses, and Mercedes, with a fair sprinkling of 1970s Camaros in primer.

"Oooh," she said aloud, "Look at that mid-year 'Vette convertible! What a pretty car." It was dark, sparkling blue with the hardtop on in spite of the sunny day—a 1967 big-block with a serious hood bulge. The color, for some reason, reminded her of the beautiful earrings she had forced Brown to take back, the ones that matched her eyes. "Wonder what the engine is on that gorgeous thing? An L-72? Oooh…"

She was too far away to read the badging. "Who's the lucky owner? Hope he appreciates what he's got." Rally peered through the windshield as the car slowly approached on the 92 flyover. It was a man wearing a shapeless red and gold 49ers jacket. His baseball cap's bill obscured his face as he stared off to his right, away from her.

"Some dot-com multimillionaire, probably." She shook her head in admiration. "That car must have cost…well, if it's all original, at least a hundred grand. Wow, I'd love to test-drive something like that!"

The car came nearer and slid into the left lane, closest to her. Corvette and Cobra moved almost directly opposite each other as they both eased forward, and Rally strained to read the tiny chrome lettering on the side of the power bulge. The driver looked up, and she stared directly into Bean's eyes from twenty feet away.

Her mouth dropped open and her heart raced; she grabbed for her police radio handset. Bean recognized her at the same moment; apparently he had just spotted the Cobra, though she had seen the Corvette coming for some minutes as she checked out the cars.

His face, which had held a moderate meditative frown, twisted in surprise and consternation. Instantly his alerted gaze took in the police cars front and back of her and the handset in her grasp. Bean glared daggers at her. As his car crawled forward with other bumpers inches from his on all sides, his eyes darted for an escape route, but there was nowhere he could go. The highway flyover he sat on soared forty feet above the ground, and the traffic was so dense that even he was nearly immobilized.

He balled a fist and hit his steering wheel in frustrated anger, sharp teeth grinding together like a trapped animal's. Rally still held the radio handset, her thumb on the switch but not pressing it hard enough to activate.

If he ever asked her for forgiveness. "He looked that unhappy?" "What the hell are you hanging around me for, _Bean Bandit?_" "What's the deal with always getting in my way up close and personal?" "I don't care if _you_ know I can get blindsided." "Sorry about that comment—I could tell he likes you." "You know well as I do that you ain't gonna go back on a handshake." "For which of them would he sacrifice several hundred thousand dollars in annual income?" "You didn't tell me he wants you so badly." "We're asking you to help us get him into the Eight Dragon Triad." "What the hell am I supposed to think? How the hell am I supposed to know what to do about it? Will you give me a clue once in a while?" "Oh, plenty. But they want to make him into much more of a criminal than he is already—" "Just can't keep my hands off you, beautiful lady. Feels like they ought to stay there." "Oh, God, Roy, he could end up DEAD!" "He could have killed me with his bare hands, but he didn't." "Well, I won't have any qualms about _him,_ will I?" "I didn't think you were that kind of woman. Reckoned ya knew your own mind." "What's that old proverb? Save someone's life and he becomes your responsibility?" "How long have you been in love with Bean?"

Bean's car had almost passed hers, his head swiveling to look at her. Rally held out the handset where he could see it, slowly shook her head at him and let it fall on the seat, mute.

His eyes went wide. Shocked. Suspicious. When she held his gaze with hers, her face settling into a guarded, quiet expression, she saw something surface in his eyes: doubt, perhaps. A suggestion of distrust of his own convictions, a gentle shaking at the roots of his settled assumptions.

But before she could tell how that tiny seedling would grow, or if it would wither unnourished in the dark places of his mind, the traffic moved on.


	12. Chapter 12

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twelve**

"Rally Vincent?" A young woman, sounding tired.

"Yes. This is Rally Vincent." Rally cradled her cell phone between ear and shoulder, driving up Highway 1 along the coast, north to San Francisco again. The sun had already set into the grey sea to her left, bringing with its passing a bank of low clouds approaching from north and west.

Perhaps it was going to rain again tonight…she felt something in her bones that resembled a change in the weather. Her mind had gone detached and grey again, the way it had when Bean had turned on her. Had she really let him go, in the slim hope it might help him to realize the truth? What if it didn't work? What if she'd only let him slip through the FBI's grasp to see him wreak more havoc, more injury: perhaps even death? Such as her own…

"This is Vanessa Sam."

"Oh!" Rally's brain snapped to attention. "How is Larry? Are your parents doing—"

"Larry's good. Well, not good. But alive, which is good. He spent four hours in surgery Wednesday morning. Repairing lungs and things. He has tubes. To the max. But alive."

"I'm so very glad to hear that." Rally closed her eyes briefly, then took a curve in the growing darkness, headlights passing her once in a while. "Thank you for calling. I know you must be very busy."

"I am working like a member of the starving underclass…but man, I'm glad Larry had the business insurance and the health insurance in order. It's all a plot of the economic oligarchies to bleed the petty bourgeoise of their resources, but it sure comes in handy when you have large bullets in your lungs. Can you come see him? When he's awake, he asks for you."

"He does? He doesn't—"

"What, blame you for it? Look, Ms. Vincent—"

"Rally, please."

"Rally, it was his own goddamn stupid fault. He's a member of the intellectual, entrepenurial, property-owning elite, so he thinks he's somehow above, or immune from, in some class-based sense, the anti-revolutionary forces of the goddamn mother country. You know, Triads are about the most traditionalist, anti-feminist, reactionary sinks of corrupt exploitation… well, they bite big time."

She took a deep breath. "It's not like I don't agree with what he was trying to do. I even set aside some deeply held principles, like the theoretical freedom to plot criminal activity in public places, to help him out. He probably told you I put those stupid mikes on the tables."

"Yes, he mentioned it."

"He told me it was going to benefit all those women they smuggle into the States as indentured sex workers. Mengleng isn't the only one of them Emerald has found a job for. Emerald's the next sister down the list, by the way; she's a sophomore in Ethnic Studies and is totally committed to social justice. I have one cool sibling, at least. The rest are all interested in getting MBAs and MDs and money, like your average first-generation Chinese-American, which is one reason I'm an engineering major, to shut them up when they get on that 'earning power' jag—OK, well, I am a total bore, which you figured out a while ago. Larry wants to see you, and I don't mind if he helps you take out some of those scumbags. I've got all the tapes he ever made. I know you're not a cop, so you won't care if they're a little bit unconstitutional."

"At this point, Vanessa, I wouldn't give a damn if he'd bugged the Federal Building and given me tapes of the FBI agents talking in the men's john. That would probably come in handy about now. When should I come?"

"He's been sleeping all day. He might wake up in an hour or so, when the drugs start wearing off, or so the nurse said. It's the UCSF Medical Center, over near the east end of the park."

"I will be there. I have to go report in to my personal handlers, then I'll get a little dinner, and I'll come to the hospital. About eight-thirty?"

"Any time. There's always a Sam or two hanging out in the room with the vending machines, and my parents have been here almost the whole time. I'm going to try to persuade them to go to my apartment and sleep, so if you're here, maybe they'll go. This does have something to do with the fact that he's the firstborn and the only son, which if you're Chinese is so important it's not funny. I will spare you my take on the survival of patriarchal traditions in Asian immigrant populations. He's my big brother, and I am so glad he's not dead I want to dance. But I am too fucking tired to dance, so I will go get another package of peanut butter crackers from the machine, the kind that are cheese-flavored, and go crash in the waiting room for a while and get crumbs of artificially colored junk produced with underpaid labor, pesticide-drenched crops and refined white sugar into my shirt pockets. See ya."

"I like peanut butter crackers too. See ya." She was beginning to like Vanessa.

* * *

"Hey, Rally," said May, looking carefully at her as she came into May's hotel room and plopped down at the table. "How's things?"

"Besides the busy day? OK." She had already decided not to say anything to May about having spotted Bean on the overpass—if the FBI started asking questions, it was better for May not to know. "I was in a big traffic jam for hours, and I drove over to the coast to get back. I sat and looked at the ocean for a while until the sun went down. But you didn't miss much." _Just one of the worst moments of emotional epiphany of my life, and a lot of blank staring out at the elements…_

"You went to the Federal Building already?"

"Uh-huh. You might get a chance at that folder tomorrow. The one on Bean. I want to get hold of that even more now." Rally leaned her head on one hand, elbow on the table.

"Sure," said May. "Uh, Roy and I had a pizza—I took the rest in case you came back. There's some pepperoni left, if you want it. How were Smith and Wesson?"

"Boiling." Rally grinned. "Absolutely furious, because Bean never showed at the airport. I told them he didn't fly, and they wouldn't listen, because they had already made all the arrangements. That's like going ahead and marrying a man you just surprised in bed with a goat, because you already rented the hall and you can't get the deposit back. They did not like me being right. They are keeping their details there all night anyway."

"So they'll listen to you next time you tell them something?"

"Nope, because I am not telling them jack from now on. I'm going to go through the motions, I guess, but getting my help to force Bean into the Dragons? They can kiss _my_ ass." Rally lifted the lid of the takeout box and examined the leftovers.

May looked confused. "But…but you don't care what happens to _him,_ do you? He tried to cut you up! At the very least!"

"Uh…well, you know, May, he _is_ going to find out I didn't steal that money. One way or another. I don't know what he is going to do when that happens. I'm not sure anyone would want to be in the room…or the county…when he does." Rally took a bite of cold pizza. "Yuck. Salty grease on burned crackerbread." She consulted her watch."Oh well, I don't have a lot of time…it's eight already. I want to get to the hospital soon."

"Hospital? Oh, did you get a call—?"

"Larry's sister called me an hour ago. He's recovering, but he's not very healthy at the moment. He's asking to talk to me."

"What do you think he wants to say to you?"

Rally chewed for a moment. "I don't know, because Vanessa said neither he nor his family blame me for the shooting. She thinks he was overconfident…but frankly, he was very careful, and spoke about the risks several times. It was like pulling teeth to get anything out of him."

"Maybe there's something he didn't tell you."

"Maybe there's something he didn't _tell_ me? Like how he knew Brown was on a short leash? Like just why he thought gangsters were going to visit his restaurant all the time? When he tells them to go fuck themselves, and calls the cops when he sees them brawling on the sidewalk? I don't know why he'd…" Rally stopped chewing. "Oh, no. I hope he doesn't tell me…something I really don't want to hear."

"You think he's…not what he says he is? Like one of them?" gasped May. "Did Triads eat at the place because he's a Triad?"

"God damn. Is he going to confess something to me, or is he going to…"

"I stocked up on grenades again, Rally! If it's a setup, we can go there and take care of some of 'em!" May looked excited. "Pow! Boom!"

"You come with me to the hospital." Rally stood up and grabbed her jacket. "Though I really don't think that's what it is. Vanessa Sam couldn't keep a secret like that to save her life. She says exactly what she thinks, and it jumps all over the map…the ideological map! We should be prepared, but if there's a threat waiting for us there…I don't think it's been cooked up in a restaurant."

* * *

"I don't give a shite," muttered O'Toole, examining a new, empty rifle magazine. "I want ta kill that wee bitch _now_. I don't give a shite if the Chinks want ta wait, and I don't give a shite if they got plans, now do I?" He raised his PSG-1 and shoved the magazine in place, sighting through his scope. "Fockin' nigger bitch. Goin' ta do 'er good, ain'tcha, Tommy boy? Do it 'til she screams, an' a lot more than that, me foine lad. Ye'll have yer satisfaction, sir."

For a moment he bowed his head. "I won't let ye down, Mr. Brown. I'm comin' to ye soon, and I'll bring 'er with me. In bits." He stroked his rifle's barrel and attached the sling, then got up from his food-wrapper-strewn camp cot and knocked on the door of the small storage room in which he had been living for two days. "Hey, 189. Do I get to take a shite any time this week? Or is it the dirty protest all over the walls?"

The lock clicked, the door moved, and a tall, burly Chinese man filled the opening. "There's a briefing anyway, O'Toole. Come and eat with us, and I'll give you a heads-up beforehand."

"Beauty." The little bodyguard grinned and followed 189 into the corridor. "What're ye eatin' tonight?"

"Burgers. And hungshao ro—that's red-cooked pork to you."

"Ye got the overseas fellas all in one barracks wi' th' Americans?"

"Sure. They want to learn English, and we pick up more Cantonese too."

"Educational, hey? Those Hong Kong boys're a buncha queers, ain't they now?"

189 gave a snort, showing slightly uneven teeth. "Watch it with the fag comments around 426, guy. You don't want to give him any lip on that subject. Unless you want the blowtorch to come out again, or the garrote. I'm serious." He nodded at O'Toole's chest. "You gotta be feeling that still."

O'Toole put a gingerly hand to his shirt, just over the character 426 had burned into his skin. "Yeah, smarts a bit."

"He doesn't bother anybody that doesn't want to be bothered, so we don't give a shit one way or the other, understand? Huang was a smart guy, and good-looking, and he wanted it bad—426 is majorly pissed about that. He never even got the kid in bed once, so he's looking for blood. You're sure lucky it wasn't you that shot him dead."

"Yeah," said O'Toole, with a small twitch at the corner of one eye. "The Vincent bitch done it, all right."

The two men entered a large kitchen, where twenty or so men, Chinese-American, Malay, and Macanese, were already seated around two round tables heaped with dishes and crowded with bottles of whiskey and beer. A male cook worked at a large commercial stove, the streetlights outside shining through the small windows. 189 pointed at a chair and took his own nearby.

"Meet the troops. This is Brown's bodyguard, guys." He looked around the table. "Name's Tom O'Toole, for those of you who don't know."

Two men got up, one gesturing at O'Toole and hissing in a heavy accent. "He shoot 72! And Po and Sung! What he doing here?"

"426's orders, so sit down, Omdurran," said 189. Omdurran and the other man sat down. "Gimme the pork and rice, Wo. I think Irish here wants a burger."

"Hell yes," said O'Toole, reaching for one as the platter was shoved in his direction. "I don't eat that shite—" Twenty-two or three pairs of eyes turned to him. "Pork, I mean. I'm convertin' to a Jew, ain't I?" He smiled, nicotine-stained teeth showing, and a few men laughed. The rest turned to their meals.

"OK," said 189, chewing, "This is going to be a planning session. 426'll call you upstairs in a little while. You get to go for the bounty hunter soon, O'Toole. You just got to put together a plan of action. They'll tell you where she's staying and all that, and you get equipment—a car, whatever, and backup if you want. There's a tracer on her car, so we can pinpoint its location any time. You can use your guns or you can get something out of the armory."

"Soundin' lovely ta me."

"Only thing is, you don't whack any FBI, and you don't whack any cops, like this one she's got out from Chi-town. Just the broad—and her kid friend, if it comes to that. So think along those lines."

"189!" called someone from the corridor, and a man came into the kitchen. "426 wants you up in his office, sir. He said to bring what you'll need for a trip."

"Huh?" said 189, swallowing a mouthful and looking up. "Did he say where?"

"No, sir. He said he got a message just now, something real important, and he said to pack fast. You're going to fly the Cessna, I know that. Bring a suit. There's not going to be a meeting after all, so O'Toole will have to cool his heels. 426 says 111 will handle it."

"Got it," said 189, rising and wiping his mouth. "111, consult with him on the MO. Show him the garage and the armory. O'Toole: get thinking, but keep your shirt on 'til the boss gets back. I'm gone." He left the kitchen and followed the messenger. Every Dragon turned to look at the sole white man in the room, who stared every one of them down, yellow eyes narrowed and jaws working.

"Beauty," said O'Toole again. "Boss'll be outa town, eh?" He finished one burger and reached for another, then poured himself a glass of whiskey. "Though I'd have ta say, before I get done with that wee bitch, she ain't going ta be one bit pretty, will she? Any of ye inclined to have a taste before I get out me knife?"

Several of the Dragons grinned unpleasantly, including Omdurran, nodding in approval. "I hehp you, O'Toor."

O'Toole raised his glass. "A man after me own heart. Ye know, fellas, it's an even chance I'll get along wi' the pack of ye just like a house on fire. So here's how, an' long live the Eight Dragons." Twenty-odd men poured whiskey, and drank.

* * *

"Vanessa?" said Rally, peering around a darkened waiting room at the UCSF Medical Center with May at her side. "I'm here. Are you awake? I brought a friend."

"Ohh…" moaned Vanessa, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Yeah, I'm alive. I hope I can stay awake to drive to Berkeley…nah, I guess I'll take Mom and Dad to the BART station and we'll go home on the train." She yawned. "What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty."

"Wow, you're punctual." She looked at May.

"This is May Hopkins, my partner. May, meet Vanessa Sam. How's Larry?"

"Hi, May. I think my parents are in with him right now. He woke up in time for dinner." Vanessa yawned again. "He asked for you again and I said you were coming. His reaction to that says he's objectifying you on the basis of your physical conformity to the sexual ideal promoted by the mass media…or he likes you, I guess. Oh, God, there I go again." She rubbed her eyes again and stood up. "You guys are going to go home to Chicago with stories about the People's Republic of Berserkley, aren't you? Not all Californians talk like this, you know."

"He's glad I'm coming?"

"I said it wasn't your fault. He was riding for a fall, Rally." Vanessa sighed and picked up a backpack from a chair. "I think he'll explain, but I don't want to violate his confidences. Come on; he's in 351."

Room 351 was a semi-private, but only one of the beds was occupied. A bored cop sat outside the door with a magazine. Larry lay half elevated, oxygen tubes in his nose and drain tubes around his wounds, which were heavily bandaged over his otherwise bare chest. His left arm was wrapped in an elastic bandage and had an IV inserted into a vein, and his left eye and temple shone purple-black. Both of his eyes were closed.

Rally felt a pang at his appearance, biting her lips. Larry was almost unrecognizable; frail and battered where he had been vital, healthy and handsome. His mother and father sat close to the bed in armchairs, holding his hands and talking quietly in Cantonese. All around the bed and stacked against the walls sat dozens of floral arrangements and fruit baskets, overwhelmingly red and gold and decorated with banners printed in Chinese characters. Obviously the Sam family and Larry himself had many friends and well-wishers.

Rally and May stood back for a moment as Vanessa approached and touched her father's shoulder. He looked up and nodded, then turned to Rally and May. "Good evening, Mr. Sam, Mrs. Sam," said Rally. "This is May Hopkins, my partner."

To her surprise, May bowed and spoke a greeting in singsong Cantonese. Mr. Sam looked at his wife in astonishment, and Mrs. Sam laughed, greeting May in turn. She was small and round-faced, but with sharp eyes that sized up both of them quickly. "May? You speak Chinese?"

"Gosh, I only worked in a Chinese…um, business, for more than two years! I picked up a lot!" May spoke to the Sams again, seeming to explain what she and Rally did for a living, and they nodded, replying. Mr. Sam made some noises as if he were telling May about the attack on the restaurant, with sound effects, and his voice rose excitedly.

May paid close attention, asking a question or two, and several times suppressed a laugh. Rally felt rather left out, but when Larry opened his eyes and smiled at her, ghastly with pale, clammy skin and red blotches on his face, she moved to his bedside and sat down.

"She's speaking good Cantonese for a kid," said Larry, his voice thin and raspy. "Where did she say she picked it up?"

"She's a little older than she seems, Larry. How are you feeling?"

"Just as great as I look," he said with a faint smile. "They tell me I have a few weeks of rehab to go before I can run the Bay to Breakers dressed as a fortune cookie."

"I'm so sorry about what happened that night. I've been worrying about you ever since."

"Thank you, Rally. When I woke up, my first thought was, 'Darn, she's going to worry about me. I'd better get healed up.'"

She smiled at him. "If you can joke, you must be better. I'm really glad you're going to be all right."

"Where's Bean?" he asked, with no sense of broaching a sensitive subject. "Did he drive you here?"

"Uh…no." Rally wondered if she should tell him the truth. Larry looked far too fragile to hit with such a heavy piece of news, so she only smiled. "He's on his own right now. May's better at this kind of thing."

"Since she speaks Chinese, I guess she is. But how did the operation go?" Larry looked at his family and lowered his voice, which wasn't particularly loud in the first place. "Did you get your man?"

"I'm afraid not. But it's a long story, and not a nice one. I don't want to upset you."

"Oh, boy," said Larry, closing his eyes. Then, to her shock: "426."

"You do have something to tell me, then." Rally felt her heart rate jump.

"I see; he did show up. Don't look at me like that, Rally. It's not…" He trailed off, coughing. "It's not something you are going to hate me for. Not like…that money."

"We didn't get any money. I'm sorry."

"I figured that. You know; forget about it, OK? I'm going to tell you something that I might have told you from the start. I was too damn cautious, and I could have helped you much more than I did. So now that it's too late…"

"Oh, Larry. Don't you go blaming yourself for my professional problems! I've got lots of people to dump THAT on! So relax."

"I'm taking Mom and Dad home now," said Vanessa, coming over to put a hand on Larry's forehead. "I think Emerald's coming when she finishes her study group at nine. Or maybe not."

"Where are Jade and Cassandra?" asked Larry.

"They're staying with the Leongs, remember? I've got it under control, bro." Vanessa kissed Larry's face and smiled tiredly at Rally. "He looks better already, so we're going to blow. Mom thinks you two look like a pair of tough cookies, and Dad thinks you and your little friend are awfully sweet to come. I anticipate a 'discussion' all the way home."

"I think your mom has us nailed. We'll take care of Larry until your sister gets here." The parents patted and kissed their son, and left with Vanessa. May looked around the room.

"You know, Rally, I'm a little hungry. My stomach gets bad if I don't have snacks…so I'm going to check out the vending machines." She winked and left.

"Your partner seems like a smart kid," said Larry.

"You bet." There was a quiet pause.

"Rally…" he began. "I have a confession to make. Well, several confessions…"

"I kind of had that feeling, Larry. But please, don't start talking about stuff that's going to bother you, OK?" Rally took Larry's right hand, which lay on the coverlet. It felt cold, and too heavy.

"I have to. I have to get it off my chest—" He coughed rackingly, his tubes jiggling. "That was a joke, and I was laughing." Rally put her other hand on the bare part of his chest and rested it gently there.

"Thanks. You know, I feel better with you here. My mom's pretty overwhelmed by this, and so is my dad. Vanessa is trying to be in charge for me, but she's devastated, no matter how strong she tries to be. Emerald has to be at school most of the time and prefers it that way. My younger sisters are embarrassed by the whole thing. The family dynamics get a little thick in here."

"Oh. Well, I had a tense family too…but never mind. If you really feel like you have to get something out, and you want to tell it to me for some reason, then go ahead." She hoped he didn't think he was making a deathbed confession.

"It pertains to you, Rally. Indirectly. What it is directly about…is the Eight Dragon Triad."

"OK…"

"I hate them. I have been trying to find ways to fight them for as long as I can remember. I encouraged them to come to my restaurant, Rally. The ones you beat up on the sidewalk were only visiting for lunch. I cultivated them so I could find up what they were up to. Those punks I told you about, the ones who were supposed to go fuck themselves? They weren't in on the joke. They thought I was a legitimate target. I didn't call the cops. I complained to their superiors, and they were punished. I did tell them that, though." He smiled weakly. "There's nothing like being able to swear in Chinese. Most of the ordinary curses would make even Bean blush."

"I'm sure it comes in handy."

"You'd be surprised at my dad's vocabulary when he's speaking Cantonese. He's so polite in English. It's not the same in translation."

"Oh…that's why May was laughing!" Rally smiled and lifted her chin. "Gosh, I wouldn't have thought it of him. Such a nice old man."

"No, and you wouldn't have thought this of me. I hope."

"Oh, Larry, if that's all it is…you just took a foolish risk, that's all."

"That's not all, Rally." His bloodshot eyes moved away from her, then back, open and truthful, but bleak.

"Uh-oh."

"There was one Triad…in particular. He liked the place a lot. He came back nearly every day at one time, a few years ago. I thought it was a compliment to my dad's cooking. That was part of it, but not all of it. Not even the major part of it."

"No?"

"I didn't give you any mug shots of him. There aren't any. When I recorded him, the conversation I told you about…the night you were going for Brown…I knew him by sight. Very well, in point of fact."

"The man you recorded…what, Huang? 426's assistant?" Huang had been only a couple of years younger than Larry. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"No. I don't mean Huang."

"Oh, man."

"Yes. 426 himself. I cultivated him, because he was the highest number to come to the place. And then he started cultivating me."

"I'm not sure what you mean. He liked your conversation?"

"Maybe he did. But…well, speaking of Huang."

"I should tell you something, Larry. Huang is dead."

"He's dead? Oh, no."

"I share that feeling, because…I'm afraid I'm the one who killed him. One of my bullets got him accidentally through the head when I fired at Brown's bodyguard...or someone. It was chaos that night."

"Oh…my…God…" Larry went whiter than before, then broke into a coughing fit.

"Larry? Damn, I knew you shouldn't talk about this." She reached for the call button. "I'll get the nurse."

"No, don't…I have to tell you..." He struggled to sit up.

"You look terrible! Please, we can do this some other time—"

"Rally, he's going to go for you if you're the one who killed Huang! You have to know this! Thank God you came…because you have certainly been marked for death by the Eight Dragon Triad's chief assassin!"

"Holy crap, Larry! Why?"

Larry fell back on his pillows, wheezing, and it was a moment before he could speak. "426…he came that night with Huang, and I listened to the conversation. 426 liked Huang, a lot, and he seemed like a smart kid, though he kept deprecating himself. I got the feeling that 426 was going to push the guy fast up through the ranks. He was going to get a number soon, at the very least."

"His protégé, huh? Oh, man. As if the Dragons needed another excuse!"

"You've got your gun with you, I hope?"

"Uh…no, I don't, Larry. At least not the nine-millimeter. Hospitals don't let you take guns inside, especially when the patients are mob targets." Rally glanced at the door; the guard had ambled off to the bathroom. "I've got one .25 auto, and May has a couple of her…specials." She patted her ankle.

"Rally…you're not safe. You should go as soon as I tell you the rest. Don't hang around without protection. You'd better call Bean and warn him too…"

"Um… How would they know where I am?"

"I think they may have a tracer on your car."

"What? Did they talk about that?"

"No. But it's 426's style…and Huang was a surveillance expert. 426 was praising the guy to the heavens, to his face, and that's not something he does often. Huang must have been good. As I say, I know 426 very well…because he cultivated me for quite a while. I know that way he has of talking to young men. Huang was surely going to be his newest lover."

"Huh? Ohh…duh. He's homosexual." The penny dropped. "Oh! You mean, he, um, kind of wanted to, uh, with you?"

Larry smiled ironically. "He didn't just kind of want to. I know I don't look too hot right now, Rally. But you saw me healthy. I'm not trying to come across like a vain preener here, but I know I'm usually a good-looking guy."

"Yeah, that's true. You're very handsome, even now." Rally dropped a kiss on his pale, blotchy brow. "Oh, geez. Did he get really persistent? I saw him during the operation. Made my skin prickle to look at him."

"He's not a crude man. He doesn't try to attack people…young men he'd like to keep around, that is. He's very intelligent and cultured. You could talk all night with him about Chinese painting or porcelain or history. He likes good-looking men, but they have to have smarts—he's not interested in male bimbos.

"This was about four years ago, when I was still in college and working a lot of nights at the restaurant. He took me to museums and the opera. Stuff like that. It's the pursuit that interests him, not the conquest. He never grabbed me or anything. He just looked at me. You've seen him? Can you imagine those eyes, boring into yours? With desire? Night after night in a room you can't leave? That's one overwhelming personality in there. He doesn't look impressive on the outside. Many people never notice. He has to turn it on." Larry started to look a little shaky. "Would you hand me that glass of water, please?"

"Sure." She helped him drink and wiped his chin with a hand towel.

"You're a very tender person, Rally. For someone who always carries a gun." Larry smiled.

"You don't have to go on with this story if you don't want to, Larry. I get the point, and I think you're getting too worked up."

"I need to tell you. Please don't make me stop." He took a deep breath. "I'm not homosexual. I think you know that. I don't have anything against gays—heck, I live in San Francisco. I grew up thinking of them as ordinary citizens, which they are. I just wasn't made that way—I like women, not men."

"Larry—"

"It's all right. I did sleep with him, once. He's not kinky or anything like that. He doesn't use handcuffs or whips. He's got his preferences, sure, but everyone does. I let him use me the way he wanted to. It wasn't actually unpleasant, except for…knowing I had prostituted myself. But…"

"But?"

"He asked me to join the Eight Dragon Triad. While we were still in bed together."

"Please, Larry. Don't tell me—"

"I said no, Rally. I wasn't willing to go that far. I wasn't going to become what I hated most in order to fight it. I turned him down as politely as I could. I told him that my father wouldn't approve—which is true—and since he's a traditional Confucianist, he respected my filial piety and let the subject drop. He didn't ask me out any more, and he never tried to have sex with me again. He still likes me…or he did until Tuesday night." Larry put a hand on one of his bandages. "The Triad's his whole world. He loves it more than he loves any person. He would never hesitate to sacrifice a person to the greater good of the Triad. It wouldn't matter who. Me, or his own brother. He'd have killed Huang himself if he'd thought it was necessary."

"I got that impression. I only looked at him for a few moments, but that was enough." She squeezed his hand. "Oh, Larry…"

"What I mean is, I know him. I know what he's likely to do. I know for certain that he is going to do his best to kill you, or have you killed."

"But how could he know who shot Huang? It hasn't gone beyond the FBI."

"Oh, he'd find out. He'd be determined as hell to know. Weren't there other people there, who might have witnessed it?"

"Yes…O'Toole. Brown's bodyguard. He would have seen it happen, and…I told Bean about it." A little twitch of her mind. "But would O'Toole have told anything like that to 426? After all, he shot Huang first, and several other Dragons later. I suppose he just beat it out of the city with all that money."

"I don't know this O'Toole… I don't know whether he would have contacted the Dragons. Bean knows? He wouldn't have told the Dragons anything, of course."

Rally felt something cold pass through her. "Uh…no…" If they had contacted him yet—they had to know that Bean was no longer her partner, and they might very well know that he had called off his promise to her—after all, they had been behind the suitcase planted in her trunk. And she had let him go. She got up and checked the window to cover her expression. "I'm sure it's occurred to you that if 426 is that determined, I'm not the only one he's liable to finish off, Larry."

"I know." She turned and saw him close his eyes. "I probably don't have long."

"What? The SFPD has you under guard!" Rally saw the cop meander back with a Coke and sit down outside the door again, slouching in his chair. "OK…maybe you have a point."

"My parents have gone home, my sisters aren't here…the Dragons will have been watching the hospital. Someone will arrive soon, I'm sure. I've told you what you need to know, and I glad I got the chance. You'd better just go back to your hotel..."

"What? Not a chance! I left the other guns in the car, and it's right out there in the parking lot. I'll call May, and we'll get the stuff inside, and we'll take care of anything that comes along!" She turned to smile at him. "May and I are very tough cookies indeed. Just let them try!"

* * *

"Mr. Bean Bandit?" said a voice at his elbow. Bean rattled the dice he held in his fist and threw them with calculated force against the end of the craps table. Snake eyes; he'd lost two thousand dollars again, for the tenth time in an hour. He didn't seem too put out about it, but tossed the dice to the next player and leaned back as the croupier raked in the chips. He turned half an eye toward the man who stood beside him.

"What the hell do you want?" he said.

"Just asking if you're available for work." It was a tall, burly Chinese man with an American accent, dressed in a black turtleneck and collarless black jacket. He smiled, showing slightly uneven teeth. "If you aren't available, we'll look elsewhere."

"I ain't available. How the hell do you know who I am, anyway?"

"Gentlemen, place your bets," said the croupier, and Bean dropped two thousand dollars worth into the Doubles slot, barely looking down.

"A lot of people have heard about your presence on the West Coast." The Chinese man touched his nose with an ironic smile. "It wasn't difficult to deduce who was behind the mess in the Bay Area earlier today."

"Heh," said Bean. "How'd you know I was in Vegas?"

"You don't blend into the crowd too well." He shrugged, gesturing at Bean's heavy leather jacket and slicked-back hair. "We had a call from a local observer. Nothing sinister about it, Mr. Bandit. We thought we might take advantage of an unexpected opportunity, if you're amenable. It's a big job, by the way." He rubbed forefinger and thumb together.

"Ain't they all."

"It'll take only a couple of days, and it'll pay a hundred grand. I can't say more about it in public."

"I ain't looking to earn anything right now. Sorry." The next player threw the dice and again came up snake eyes. The little white spots on translucent red seemed to glow in the bright casino lights. "Dang," muttered Bean as the croupier pushed six thousand dollars worth towards him. "Let it ride." He flipped a hundred-dollar chip to the croupier.

"No, you seem to be working on losing money rather than winning it. That's a little strange."

"Gentlemen, place your bets," said the croupier.

"Most of the time, maybe." The next player threw a seven and whooped. Bean's six thousand vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "There ain't no better way to flush money down the toilet than spendin' some time in Vegas." A blonde cocktail waitress came up to him with a mug of beer and a whiskey chaser, and Bean downed both in ten seconds, putting the glasses back on her tray and digging in his jacket for his wallet.

"Oh, sir, your drinks are comped," said the waitress when he tried to pay her. "The pit boss said you're the highest roller he's seen all week. I've got some dinner and room coupons for you too—"

"Ah, hell," grumbled Bean. "I didn't ask for none of that. Keep 'em." He gave her a hundred-dollar tip and pretended to swat her backside as she waggled it at him. "Get outta here and bring me the same again."

"Yes sir," the waitress giggled. "Is there anything else you'd like?"

"Nah," said Bean briefly, turning to the craps table again. "I go for brunettes." The waitress made a moue of semi-feigned disappointment and strutted off.

"Even if you're not interested in earning money," said the Chinese man, "I do have some information that _will_ interest you."

"Gentlemen, place your bets," said the croupier.

Bean dug in his pockets and came up with one ten-dollar chip. "'Scuse me, dude, but I have to go buy me some more little plastic things." He pushed away from the craps table and headed to the line at a cashier's window, the Chinese man following. Plunking down several rolls of hundred-dollar bills, Bean scooped up twenty-five thousand worth of chips and turned to the gambling floor again.

"How much have you lost today, Mr. Bandit?"

"Drop the mister, dude. I'm Bean." The waitress came back, and Bean gulped his beer and tipped her again.

"All right, Bean. Why are you throwing money away?"

"'Cause this money smells, that's why. I don't want it any more."

"Really? Money is money, isn't it?"

"Most of the time. Who's 'we', anyway? Who you working for?"

"The Eight Dragon Triad," said the man blandly. "May we speak in private? My superior is in the bar."

Bean stared at him, his eyes narrowing and brows drawing down. "Just come right out and say it, huh?"

"My superior and I don't believe in obfuscation," said the man. "Unlike a late colleague of ours."

"No shit."

"Please, come into the bar. May we buy you a drink?"

"Beer," said Bean, and followed him into a lounge lined with vinyl booths. The Triad man ordered a pitcher of Samuel Adams and a vodka martini, then gestured to a booth in the corner of the room. One person sat there, a middle-aged Chinese man with cropped hair, slightly grey.

"Hey there," said Bean after a moment's silence. "426."

426 rose and bowed. "Please sit down, Bean. I am honored to meet you again."

"No shit? You Dragon fellas had a hot time that night. Ain't you carryin' a grudge?" He turned his eyes to the man who had led him into the bar. "Settin' me up? Bring it on."

426 showed his palms, a slight smile on his face. "We have no grudge against you, Bean. Rather the opposite, in point of fact." He indicated a seat. "I wish only to speak to you about those offers that were never made in San Francisco."

"I dunno." Bean shook his head slightly and stayed where he was. "I got business out there at the tables. It ain't likely I'm gonna accept the kind of job offer yer likely to make. I got a taste of that with Brown, and if he's a good example of the Dragon way of doin' business, I got my fill for a lifetime already." He turned to go.

426 cleared his throat. "Bean, you are a professional, and deserve to be treated as one. So am I a professional, although my area of expertise is different from yours. I promise you, if you will speak to me about this job, I will tell you the truth about it. No tricks, and I will take no for an answer. If you are not interested, may the gods speed you on your way. I believe you may be interested, however, when you hear the details." The blonde waitress brought their drinks, and the other man tipped her.

"What's yer name, dude?" said Bean after a long pause.

"I do not use my personal name in a professional capacity—something like you. I am always referred to as 426. My associate is referred to as 189." The man who had approached Bean in the casino inclined his head.

"What, that's all? A number? Code name?"

"My number is symbolic of my function in the Triad. It is a great honor to bear it, and I bear it proudly. Has no one ever asked you why you call yourself 'Bean'?"

"Oh, they ask," said Bean, finally cracking a smile, and sat down, grabbing the pitcher and taking a deep gulp of beer. "OK, Four. You want to talk, I'll talk to ya. But I got about sixty thousand still burnin' a hole in my jeans, so gimme a rain check on any work for a couple of hours. I ain't gonna leave this joint until I'm cleaned out."

"Indeed. Why is this money so dirty?"

Bean's expression went dark and disgusted, as if he had tasted something foul, and he took another swig of beer. "I ain't gonna get into that. No offense, it ain't something I want to talk about." His eyes focused on 426. "You know about it? About...that guy named Sly Brown?"

"I knew Brown, of course."

"You know what happened with him 'n' me? You said something about it at the pier."

"Brown had made an attempt to recruit you, but broke it off after tricking you into carrying a load of drugs. You pursued him to California and caught up to him in Hollywood. There he attempted to have you killed, and when that failed, he fled to San Francisco. You were helped by a young female bounty hunter named—"

"Yeah." Bean put up a hand. "Keep her damn name out of this, hey? If I bust a table in half or something, they're gonna throw me out of here before I've lost all this dough."

"You will become violent at the mention of her name?"

"I got a feeling I might." He stared at the bottom of his pitcher, angry sorrow briefly surfacing on his face.

"I see," said 426, watching carefully. "She planned to rescue Brown from the consequences of his own stupidity. That ended in his apparent death in a fire he set himself, and in your falling out with the young woman. She stole one million dollars in cash from Brown's office, which is still missing. You are wanted by the FBI and the San Francisco—"

"Just a freakin' minute. One _million_ cash? Don'tcha mean _half_ a million?"

Something flared in 426's eyes; a piercing focus that examined Bean's face and manner like an X-ray. "Brown had one million dollars of Triad money with him. None of it has been recovered. We are planning an operation to get it back from Ms—from the bounty hunter. She is still in San Francisco, but the money has not been turned over the FBI, to the best of our knowledge. It's logical, therefore, that she still has it in her possession."

"One million? A whole million?" Bean's eyes went wide, their expression half-demonic. "She screwed me out've that much dough?" His fists clenched and he looked around.

"If you're about to become violent, I'd suggest that you do it in a better cause, Bean. Help us recover the money, and you will get a share. Ten percent finder's fee—one hundred thousand dollars."

"I already got a share, Four." Bean stuck his hands in his pockets. "Everything that was comin' to me, and I kinda spent it already. Which is why I don't want to hear that little bitch's name."

"You got some of the money from her?" 426 raised his brows and drew down the corners of his mouth, as if confirmed of some fact of which he had been skeptical.

"The half million bucks Brown owed me. I was supposed to let her have half of it since she was helpin' me, but I guess she decided to take it all. She tried to hide it from me, but I found it. Now I'm wishin' I'd killed her. She's got another half million somewhere?"

"Apparently so," said 426, his air of reluctantly accepted corroboration deepening. "Brown had it in his possession, but after diligent search of his office, we have not found it. The only other person who could have known it was there, besides his bodyguard and driver, was your erstwhile partner." 426 glanced up through his lashes, turning his hand over to inspect his nails.

"God damn," said Bean.

"You have spent most of the $500,000 you took from her?"

"Yep. It's gone. Got about sixty thou left."

"That is unfortunate," said 426, pulling on his lower lip. "It was not Brown's to dispose of."

"Yeah, sorry. Yer gonna have to take that up with him."

"To the best of your knowledge," said 426 with a searching look, "is Sylvester Brown dead?"

"Sure he is. Burned up in that fire on the pier. I heard him yellin' blue murder in there, and it sure didn't sound like he got out." Bean chuckled.

"And…who put the .32 through Huang's head?"

"She did. Accident, she said, but I reckon she didn't want him to tell me where she'd hid the dough. Why're you so torqued about a lousy million, anyway? You Triad guys must make that in profits every couple of minutes."

"It is the principle of the thing, something I am sure you will understand. One instance of laxness or self-indulgence can undo an entire system."

"Maybe. Seems like you burned off that particular loose end. Auction off his fancy-ass cars or something if you want to get the cash back. It ain't my problem."

426 didn't laugh. He held Bean's gaze with two hard pupils, as bright and glowing as snake eyes under casino lights. "If the Eight Dragon Triad does not recover their money, it may well become your problem, Bean."

"That so?"

"I do not like to make idle threats, so I will not. I merely suggest that if your former partner has stolen that money, you are implicated by association. How do I know that you had no knowledge of the theft? You say you have spent half a million dollars. You and she might simply have split the one million dollars and gone your separate ways."

Bean snarled, his nose wrinkling like a pit bull's. "You think what the hell you want, Four. I am so far from giving a shit about you and your buds that I don't even care if you know I'm goin' back to Frisco right frickin' now, and I'm gonna find that girl and that money. That's the job you want to hire me for, hey? Well, I wouldn't take a dime for that. It's a point of honor."

"Very well," said 426, smiling faintly. "What do you intend to do with the money when you recover it?"

"I dunno. Burn it, if I had any sense. I'm so frickin' sick of this deal..." Bean stared off at the wall of the bar, something contending with anger behind his re-controlled expression.

"If you will return it to me, we will trouble you no more. Or...do what you like with it, and you can consider it a retainer. For six months, renewable and renegotiable. What do you say?"

"Be on yer payroll? I dunno. I ain't worked for anyone in a coon's age, and nothin's happened lately to change my mind."

"Oh, our proposal is not one that will change your life. Simply return to Chicago and take up your usual pursuits again. Once or twice a month, we will call you for a job, with plenty of advance notice. All that we would require is that you keep some space in your schedule for us, and refrain from taking our direct competitors as clients."

"Huh," said Bean noncommittally.

"Most of the work will be routine. We plan to run a regular route from Canadian ports through the Great Lakes, so you will meet a ship in Chicago or Green Bay, or possibly Detroit, and take packages to various drop-off points in the Midwest. You will be free to set your routes and procedures; we know very well that you work best according to your own rules, and we have no intention of cramping your inimitable style." 426 smiled pleasantly. "Your career has been of great interest to our leadership, Bean, as you know. We would like to consider you a comrade, not an adversary."

"Yeah? Why me?"

"Your ability and experience, of course—"

"There's gotta be something else going down, dude. There's other drivers than me, and there's plenty that wouldn't say no to a sweet offer like that. If you know anything about me, you know I ain't exactly the kind to jump at it."

"Perfectly. Yes, there is something else—your racial heritage."

"So that's what the hell he was on to," said Bean. He finished the pitcher and clonked it on the table.

"What who was on to?"

"Brown. He was babblin' about my parents. What frickin' difference does that make? I'm some kinda Injun halfbreed—who cares, besides redneck assholes? What do _you_ care?"

"You are half Japanese, Bean. Did you not know that?"

"Ahh, horseshit," snorted Bean. "I ain't some little monkey that eats raw fish. Yer pullin' my leg."

426 looked blank for a moment. "According to Brown's research, your father was a famous _yokozuna_, a champion sumo wrestler, which may account for your size. You truly didn't know this?"

"No, I didn't, and if it's something you're gonna live and die by, better get up and walk out now. Thanks for the beer."

Taken aback, 426 stared at Bean for some time. "Well...we are an Asian organization..."

"That hires a white-eyes like Brown? Heh, heh."

"Point taken," said 426. "Well, you were originally singled out for your skill, not your background—that was the deciding factor, but not the only one." He waved a hand. "Your Asian blood is a fact nevertheless. I would still like to call such a professional my comrade. Does the proposal appeal to you in any way?"

"Yer talkin' drugs, I gather."

"I am. China White, the best and purest heroin in the world. The market expands daily, and we can afford to pay whatever you require. I should mention that you will receive your usual fee for each run, in addition to the retainer. We don't wish you to have any cause for complaint."

"You know, Four, I kind of like a guy that'll say what he means. That don't mean I'm a wage slave, though. And I don't like smack."

"I have heard that. I have also heard that you dislike betrayal. Is it not true that you originally stopped running drugs at the request of...the bounty hunter?"

"Where'd you hear that?"

"From Brown."

"No shit? How'd he know that?"

"The bounty hunter told him."

Bean's lips curled back from his teeth. "That little bitch..."

"She told him a great deal about you, and about your dealings with her. For instance..." 426 cleared his throat apologetically, tapping his fingertips together. "I mention this only in illustration, you understand. She told Brown you attempted to have sexual relations with her, and that she refused you—"

"Bullshit!" hissed Bean.

"A lie?"

"Yeah." His fists clenched on the table. "She was workin' on me and I didn't fall for it...at least, not in the end." Bean's head drooped and a few strands of his hair fell over his eyes. "I ain't no iron man, not when a girl like that..."

426 waited for a few moments, but Bean was silent, hand working over the lower part of his face. "She has injured you," he said quietly, but not with sympathy. His eyes seemed as cold as a lizard's as he stared at Bean's bowed head. "She has betrayed your secrets, cheated you, smeared your name. Regain your honor."

"By doin' what I promised her not to do, you mean? Two wrongs make it all right?" Bean looked at 426 with a suddenly haggard expression.

"Is it wrong to do what you are the best at doing?"

"What is it you do, Four? Ol' Red Mountain didn't say nothing about yer professional specialty. You the best at it?"

"I don't like to say it myself—"

"Yeah, yeah. What does four-twenty-six add up to?"

426 glanced casually around the room, then flicked back the right lapel of his jacket. The finely machined butt of a black steel Sig P229 automatic protruded from a close-fitting shoulder holster.

Bean's eyes focused on it and lost their weary questioning look, sharpening and closing off at the same time. The jacket fell into place again.

"I am Red Pole 426, chief of assassins. And yes, I am the best at what I do. I enjoy my work and I carry out my duty. I do not expect you to share that sense of duty to the Triad—not yet. But it is my guiding principle in all things."

"They got their own rules, huh? Duty equals murder?"

"Execution of our enemies and our wayward members. Every society must have order and accountability, and its rules must provide for punishment of crime. I have heard that you also make your own rules, Bean."

"Yeah...like I don't run drugs."

"If you place a woman's—that woman's—scruples higher than your own profit and profession, that is your business." 426 let out a slight snort through his nose. "It is not what I have heard about Bean Bandit, the famous Roadbuster, I confess. But image and reality are seldom the same thing." He rose and put down his drink, as did 189. "Ms. Rally Vincent seems to have the upper hand at last."

Bean let out a furious growl and kicked the table over, sending glasses flying. The bartender jumped, but stood still at 426's glance. "I don't want to hear that name, dude!" Bean surged to his feet, looming over 426 by a full head. "You think you can make me run in any direction you like if ya wave her like a frickin' red flag? Watch yer ass!"

"I apologize," said 426, holding up a hand. "To be honest, you seem attached to her still. I only mean to advise you against giving her such power."

"You think I got a weak spot or something? No way, Four. That day won't ever come!"

"If you say so. Would you like some time to consider my offer? Of course, every day that money remains missing increases the odds that you will not be able to recover it. Please treat the immediate situation as a separate matter from longer-term employment. Will you act now to prevent her from escaping with her ill-gotten gains? If you accept this as a job—no payment if you insist—the Eight Dragon Triad can mobilize its resources to aid you in any manner you choose, or keep out of it entirely. If not, we may act at cross-purposes and get in each other's way. Won't you take the logical decision?"

Bean glanced up at the mirrored ceiling of the bar, his image shattered into multiple tiles above his head. "Sell myself to ya for a little while?" He smiled tightly. "Yeah, yer makin' sense. If she can be a whore for half a million, why not me?" He stalked out of the bar, shoulders hunched, face frozen. A numbered Dragon flanked him on each side.

* * *

"Shouldn't we call the FBI?" asked May, opening Rally's rifle bag on the floor of Larry Sam's hospital room. "They could set up more guards or something!"

"I do NOT want to talk to Smith OR Wesson for ONE more second today…" growled Rally, coiling up a length of rope she had used to hoist the bag through the third-story window of the room. "But I guess I might have to." She took out her cell phone and dialed Smith's number. It rang several times and went to voicemail. "Ah, Agent Smith, this is Rally Vincent. There's a _real_ wedge into the Eight Dragon Triad in this very room, and I know what it is, and you don't. It's about to draw an assassination attempt. Call me back." She clicked off and put the phone away.

"Yow," said May. She took out some C4 and several grenades.

"Let him get mad!" Rally pulled her CZ75 from the bulging bag and strapped on the shoulder holster. "And the ten-gauge… You locked the trunk?"

"Yes, I left the rifle there like you told me. You really think the FBI are going to care? They went over the car already. Though they didn't see that tracer!" May held up a small round item. "It was a good thing the body panels were bent, because I might not have found it otherwise. I left it functioning for now…do you want me to smash it?"

"No. I have an idea for that little thing. As long as I don't actually _use_ a firearm that's illegal in California, they probably won't come down on me. They're Feds, not state officials." Rally loaded her shotgun and pumped the handgrip. "I doubt it would come in handy here, anyway. It'll be close-range work if the Dragons burst into the room."

"Oh, man…" said Larry from his bed, eyes bugging out at their guns and explosives. "I don't like this kind of stuff even when I'm mobile…"

"Don't worry, Larry. You're assassin bait tonight, but I have something for you." Rally took a Kevlar vest from the rifle bag. "I'll put this over your chest, doubled. That will absorb any handgun rounds, and you can pull it over your head if necessary. OK?" She tucked it around him, trying not to dislodge his tubes, and pulled the covers up over it.

"Ah ha ha...I don't think I've got anything to say about this, do I?"

"Nope," said Rally, smiling and patting his head.

"What's going on in there?" asked the San Francisco cop outside the closed door.

"Officer, you might want to call a little backup. Mr. Sam here is fairly sure that a Chinese mob assassin will be here in no time. Don't open the door unless we invite you to, OK?"

The cop made a strangled sound, and she heard him click on his radio. "Lieutenant, there's a possible situation…"

"May, keep an eye out the window. You have the door rigged yet?"

"Just about," said May, cutting a piece of wire with snips. "Anyone comes in without my say-so, he gets a BIG surprise!"

"Ack!" said Larry. "You might kill someone!"

"That's the idea," said Rally, loosening her CZ75 in the holster and putting on a pair of reinforced shooting range goggles. She waggled her fingers and did a quick draw, aiming at the door, then replaced the gun and shook her arms and legs to limber them up. "We are set. Let 'em come."

"Who the hell _are_ you girls?" said Larry, appalled. "Where did you _learn_ this stuff?"

"Ssshh…" said May, looking out the window. "I see two men. Dark suits, both Asian. Coming right to the front entrance."

"Either of them middle-aged, with a salt and pepper buzzcut?"

"No, they both look under thirty. They're inside."

"Just lieutenants, then. Take up position at the door." May moved across the room and grabbed her detonator cord.

The room phone rang, and Rally picked it up. "Yes?"

"There's a couple of visitors for Mr. Sam. His cousins, Edward and David Chang."

"Sure, he's awake," said Rally brightly. "Send 'em up!" She repeated the names to Larry.

"I have Chang cousins, yes. They live in New York and they have _not_ flown out to see me." Larry settled the Kevlar vest around his torso a little more tightly.

"Officer, that backup here yet?" called Rally through the door.

"No, ma'am. On their way."

"Better get out of the line of fire, then. They are probably going to come in shooting." Rally's cell phone rang. "Rally Vincent here."

"Listen to me, you little—" began Smith.

"Agent Smith, I'm a little busy right now. UCSF Medical Center, room 351. Larry Sam knows the Dragon chief assassin very, very well. Two goons coming up in the elevator now." She turned to May. "Give them a couple of flash-bangs first, then leave the door ajar and duck. Officer! You out of the way?"

"I'm in the next room. Got my .45 peeking out the door."

"Sounds good. Keep your eyes closed when the grenades come—"

"Miss Vincent, what the HELL are you doing?"

"Keeping your wedge safe and sound. If you want to get here in time for the fireworks, step on it!" Rally eased the door slightly open. Here came the elevator—_ching_—the doors slid back—feet in the corridor. "They're coming, May." Jackets flipping back, the snap of two holsters, a sharp slide-click of two automatics cocking. She pointed at May, who pulled her pins, and waited until the men were nearly to the door. "Go!" May threw.

BOMF! BOMF! White-hot magnesium flashes, the shock wave hitting—"Aiiggh!" Rally darted out as the men yelled, left hands to eyes, the waiting room papers and magazines flying off the tables. KRAK KRAK KRAK KRAK said her CZ75, and she drilled two right thumbs and two right shoulders. One man caught his gun with the left hand and fired at her, ramming the door open. BAM! Rally skipped aside. KRAK! The bullet lodged in the wall behind Larry, and she took off the Dragon's left trigger finger at the same moment.

WHABAM! May's booby trap went off.

"Aagghh…!" The Dragon collapsed, most of his hair and clothing gone. The other assassin flopped around on the floor, screaming. Rally kicked their guns away and holstered hers.

"Good placement!" she said to May, and reached for her handcuffs as the elevator chimed again. Six or eight SFPD officers stampeded down the hallway, yelling.

"Freeze!" Since she was the only person still standing outside the room, the cops all aimed at her. "Drop the holster! Put 'em up!"

"Can I cuff 'em first?" said Rally, smiling. She let her ID flip open in her hand. "My name's Rally Vincent, from Chicago. Bounty hunter!"

* * *

"You…crazy…little…"

"Lady?" chirped Rally, sitting on Larry Sam's bed and holding his hand as a nurse checked his tubes and gave him an injection of painkiller. "C'mon, Agent Smith, we did good!" Dozens of police and FBI agents milled in the corridor, discussing security arrangements.

"Jesus…" Smith groaned, apparently unable to refute that contention. "You couldn't have called the cops?"

"We did!" said May, packing up extra grenades. "We were here already; they weren't!"

"I can see so many illegal items in this room you two could pull ten years if you aren't careful! Where in God's name did you get hold of THAT?" He pointed to one of May's frag shells.

"Gosh, it's not like they're hard to buy!" sniffed May. "I went shopping this afternoon and I scored pretty well for being an out-of-towner!"

"I think he's about ready to say something to you," said Rally, getting up from Larry's bed, but retaining his hand in hers. "Special Agent Peter Smith, meet Lawrence Sam, restauranteur and Triad expert."

"Hello," said Larry, his eyes already drooping. "Pardon me; I'm a little…"

"Hello, soldier," said Smith gruffly, but, to Rally's surprise, with a kindly undertone. "You bucking for a Purple Heart?"

"Kind of by accident…yes, sir." They shook hands.

"You willing to testify about the Dragons, soldier? Miss Vincent here says you have a hell of an angle."

"Yes, sir. I will tell you everything I've ever…heard." Larry glanced at Rally with a faint smile. "When I can sit up straighter, that is..."

"You get well, kid." Smith put a hand on Larry's shoulder and stepped back. "Nice call," he said to Rally, and headed for the door. "We're in your debt, Miss Vincent."

Rally's mouth fell open in shock, and remained that way. May finished packing and slung the rifle bag over her shoulder. "The nurse wants us to get out of here and let him sleep. The place is swarming with fuzz, so he's safe now. It's about bedtime for us, too!"

"Rally…" she heard faintly from the bed.

"Larry?" she answered softly, squeezing his hand.

"Thank you."

"I owed you. It's nothing."

"No, I owe you. If you hadn't come along…I might never have had the courage to do this. Thank you for bringing Smith...he seems like a good guy. I'll talk to him as soon as I can."

"Yeah? I'm not saying he's a great conversationalist or anything. I warn you, you may feel like giving him a whirlie within two minutes. Though at least he won't call _you_ 'little lady'." Rally got up and put her purse on her shoulder.

"You…are not the kind of woman who's ever going to be a restauranteur's girlfriend, are you, Rally? You're incredible. Frightening…but incredible. It's going to take a hell of a man to keep up with you. I hope he deserves you…"

Unfortunately, she knew whom Larry meant. "Good luck, Larry. I know luck's supposed to be your stock in trade. But I think you deserve better than you got. Truly." She bent to kiss his forehead as his eyes closed, and one weak hand reached up. She let him guide her lips to his. Cold and dry, but with some promise of future warmth. "'Bye."

$100

"What do you mean by 'whore'?" 426's eyes narrowed. "If you mean to imply that service to the Eight Dragon Triad is—"

Bean laughed mirthlessly, striding across the casino floor with the Dragons following in his wake. "Ahh, I told ya the bitch was workin' on me. She tried to distract me or something. I found the cash in the trunk of her Cobra, and she always kept it double-locked. No one else could've put it there. She was tryin' to pull the wool over my eyes, so she jumped my bones right there in the car." For a moment his face contorted; his voice went hoarse. "Screwed me so sweet I couldn't see straight. Frickin' little slut."

"I see. But she didn't stop you from taking the money?"

"Nope. She had a gun on me, but she didn't fire. Wouldn't have done her any good anyhow—just a nine-millimeter." Bean shrugged his shoulders inside his armored jacket and zipped the front up halfway.

426 blinked in surprise. "She had a high-powered rifle. That would have penetrated your personal armor."

"Yeah, had it right in her hand, but she pulled out the automatic, that fancy Czech one. She likes that gun—keeps the long arms locked in the—" Bean stopped abruptly, eyes dilating and pupils contracting. He licked his lips, which were trembling oddly.

"Yes?"

"Nothin'." The slight tremor had spread to his hands, and to his breathing, but an unyielding will seemed to keep it in check as he spoke rapidly. "I'm gonna head back to Frisco. I'll keep that offer in mind. You give me a call if you want to get in touch." He flicked a business card at 426, took the one offered to him and headed for the elevators. 426 and 189 looked at each other, then at Bean's retreating back, and shrugged.

"What do you think, sir?" said 189.

"I honestly don't know," replied 426. "But we should give him a little more time. He will have to spend a few hours on the road back to San Francisco, and he will surely think it over on the way. If he contacts us, well and good. If not, we have done our best. Let us return to headquarters and make our report to Red Mountain." The two Dragons left the casino, hailing a cab outside in the night. "At any rate, his services will be useful for eighteen months at most. It will not be easy to kill that man, but I have time to think as well." A cab pulled up, and 189 opened the door. "Airport," said 426, and the Dragons departed.

* * *

"What would it be like, May? Just you and me?"

"Hmm?" said May drowsily.

"No one else. The two of us together the way it used to be, only us. The Gunsmith Cats..."

"No one else?"

"No one. Just us."

"It was nice. I liked it."

"So did I."

"I know you don't like Ken, Rally...but I love him."

"I know."

"I am a horny little slut, of course, so I worked in a whorehouse when I lost touch with him. That was just sex. I love Ken and when I make love with him, he's all I can think about. Maybe that means I have a blind spot...but that's the way it is. You can't always choose what is going to be your destiny in life."

"Is he your destiny?"

"Yes."

"You sound very sure."

"I am."

"I wish I knew what mine was."

"You will."

"Will I? I thought it was doing what I do. Bringing criminals back to jail. With you helping me."

"Maybe it was for a while." May rolled over in bed and put a hand under her head. "Things change."

"Does destiny change?"

"I don't know. Hey, Ral, you're only twenty-one. What's the hurry?"

"You're twenty and you already found yours."

"I found it a long time ago. But you don't think that was a good thing anyway. Why be envious?"

"It's just...Ken sees you as a little girl. He likes you that way, and you even took drugs to stay small for him. But you have to change, May. You have to grow up. That baby..."

"I know." May stroked her round stomach. "But it'll work out, you'll see. Me and Junior will be OK."

"You've been so sick. It's five months now and the book said the nausea would stop in the third..."

"Oh, some people barf all the way through! It's no biggie."

"I'll remind you that you said that the next time you lose your lunch on the street." May made a raspberry, and they laughed. "I love you, May, you know that?"

"I know. I love you too."

"Will I ever love someone the way you love Ken?"

"A man, you mean? I don't know."

"What if I fell in love with the wrong man?"

"The wrong man?"

"Someone who wasn't good for me. Someone who didn't share my way of looking at things."

"I don't know that I'd call that BAD..."

"But wouldn't that be the wrong kind of man for me?"

"I don't know if you can pick it that way. He's just who he is. He's not some kind of man, right or wrong; he's one man, a particular man, and he's the one you love. Nothing else matters."

"Maybe I'm a lesbian?"

May chuckled. "You sound hopeful."

"It seems simpler."

"Dealing with women? Really? After living with ME, you can say that?" May giggled.

"OK, maybe not!" Rally rolled her eyes in the dark.

"And it's not like it's something you can choose...well, you could choose to live any way you liked, of course, but I don't think you can change yourself from one to the other just because you'd prefer it that way or someone else would prefer it that way. You like who you like. You're stuck with 'em the way they are, women OR men!"

"Men are just so DIFFERENT..."

"Oh, not so different. They go about things differently, maybe."

"Well, sure, there you go."

"Well, they ARE people, believe it or not! They want the same things at bottom. Warm place to sleep, something to eat, and someone to love. Fire, food, frig. That's all it ever adds up to, no matter how you get what you want or what your tastes are. Burgers or roots and grubs or caviar; you have to eat something. Love comes in a lot of varieties too, but everyone wants it."

"Love? Really?"

"Sex, maybe. To be close to someone."

"But they're not the same thing, are they?"

"If they don't have something to do with each other, then neither of them has a lot of meaning. That's why they say 'body _and_ soul'. I mean, I know I'm not the spiritual kind. I don't talk about purity or innocence when I talk about love. When I say I love Ken, I think about screwing him and I think about how he makes me feel in bed. But I've had a lot of men, more than most women would ever think about having. Some of them were rotten in bed and some of them were fantastic. Most of them I managed to have a good time with one way or another. Not a single one of them made me feel the way Ken does.

"I thought about him all the time when I was separated from him. I never forgot him even though I had all the sex I wanted and them some. So even for me it's more than just wanting sex, though I do want sex. Sex without love is a business transaction—you do me, I'll do you. Maybe money changes hands or maybe it doesn't. You scratch an itch. Plenty of people will think they're satisfied with that because that's all they wanted anyway. No problem, except for the fact that they haven't touched the essence of the matter. Like eating candy instead of a good meal and still feeling hungry. Sex with love...ahh. Now that's destiny."

"Does one ever...change to the other? Can people have sex just for...for a business transaction, and then have it turn into something else?"

"Well, sure, I guess so. That never happened to me, of course. I knew a couple of girls who ended up living with men they met at the house. But I always loved Ken. It was never business with him. I wanted him and when I let him know it, he wanted me too. Simple as that."

"Oh..."

"Are you trying to figure something out, Rally?"

"Maybe. I'm going to have to sleep on it..."

"Good night, then."

"G'night."

* * *

"Locked in the trunk," said Bean softly, leaning on the Up button in front of the casino elevators. "Locked in the trunk..." He repeated the phrase over and over as if his brain could not quite absorb or process the simple meaning of the words, mumbling through the fingers of his left hand and slowly moving his head from side to side. "Locked in the trunk. Took out the shotgun once, but never the rifle. Never used the damn rifle 'cause it wasn't legal in frickin' California..."

His fists clenched and his face grew alternately pale and reddish brown. "Hid it in the goddamn double-locked trunk. Never showed it to no one except me..."

His voice failed as the elevator doors opened. Bean got on and pressed the button for his floor. The elevator walls were mirrored, and he raised his head and looked at the endlessly repeated reflection of himself.

As the elevator ascended, an elderly couple waiting by the doors on Bean's floor heard a splintering, tinkling crash in the shaft, which repeated itself four or five times. The doors opened and Bean got off and brushed past the couple, shaking his opened hands with a peculiar look.

His knuckles were chopped to raw meat; small razors of glass sparkled in his fresh cuts. Remnants of the mirrored panels fell to the floor of the elevator and broke, spattering drops of blood from their surfaces.

"Jesus H. Christ!" whispered the man to his wife. "That guy punched all the glass out! Did you see what a mess he made of his hands?"

"He must have lost big," said his wife. "God, his face."

"Must have," said the man, looking after Bean. "But still."


	13. Chapter 13

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Thirteen**

"What the HELL!" yelled an Inyo County sheriff's deputy. "That sonofabitch's doing something like one-eighty! On the CURVES!" His SUV still rocked slightly in the wake of the car that had just passed, a dark-blue streak in the SUV's headlights, a tumultuous engine roar Doppler-shifting to the west. "Is he drunk, or stoned outta his gourd?"

"He's gonna be _dead_, if he don't slow down," replied his partner, pointing at the car's headlights as they moved up the treeless desert ridge ahead and swerved back and forth. "Look at him take the hairpins! He'll go off the cliff at Deadman's Drop right there…hey!" The two watched for a moment longer, awed, as the headlights swept around the curve and continued up the ridge. "Wow, he ain't half bad. Wish I could hold it to the road like that!"

"Not skidding much…damn, he's got traction to burn. What was that car?"

"I'm supposed to tell at that speed, in the dark? Might've been an old 'Vette. We gonna chase him?"

The deputy peered through his windshield as he tracked the car, a dark blotch racing the moon. "Naw, we'd never catch him. Any rate, he's gonna be Fresno County's problem in about five minutes. Give Randy a call." His partner picked up the radio handset and spoke into it as the deputy watched the car disappear over the top of the ridge, still going like a bat out of hell. "Man. You'd think his best friend was dyin'."

"Naw, I bet his girlfriend's gonna have his hide 'cause he's late for dinner." Both men chortled. "Pussy-whipped, that's it. Crazy bastard."

* * *

"Someone's cleaning out the bank accounts," said Smith, throwing a sheaf of documents on his desk in front of Rally. "We froze a couple of them in time, but about ten million dollars went bye-bye early Wednesday morning."

"Brown's accounts? Would it be his wife getting the money out? Where is his family, anyway?" Rally glanced at the papers.

"We don't think it's his wife. Brown didn't tell her anything about his finances, or his day job, for that matter. Just gave her a cash allowance, and she's not the sort who asks questions." Smith sat down and rubbed a hand over his face. "Got to be one of the men. O'Toole or Manichetti…and O'Toole isn't the type he'd let in on the business end. I doubt that guy ever had access to the account numbers—too much of a loose cannon."

"I know what you mean about O'Toole…Manichetti, huh? I saw him every time I saw Brown, but he never said much." She and Smith seemed to see a little more eye to eye today, but Rally wasn't yet willing to make much effort to like him.

"He's a reliable type. Brown took long trips to Asia—Thailand, mostly—and he always left Manny in charge of the family. So he'd know where the dough is."

"Thailand?" Rally had had another phone conversation with an effusively grateful but vehemently pro-gun-control Vanessa Sam, and the subject had wandered onto the Asian sex industry. "Isn't that where they have all the child brothels? Where the Japanese pedophiles take guided tours?"

"Not just Japanese, hon. Americans, Europeans…anyone with money who digs that kind of crap. The pimps buy little girls from poor families and keep 'em chained up until the kids die of AIDS. Why, I read about a fire in one of those places—" He stopped abruptly when he saw Rally's face. "Sorry, kid. That was an awful thing to bring up." Smith gritted his teeth, his face reddening slightly. "But there are a lot of nasty doings in this world, Miss Vincent, and somebody's got to deal with them head on. That's why I'm in this line of work."

On that question, she and Smith were in perfect agreement. "Brown…" Rally's stomach turned over at the dreadful images in her mind. "He said some things, about how young I was…"

Smith grimaced at her. "No shit, sister. He got into that particular kink four-five years ago, after trying everything else under the sun, and I figure that's exactly what he was doing over there, under color of business trips."

"He's got a little daughter! He…seemed really attached to her…Oh, God."

"Makes ya want to puke, doesn't it?" Smith shook his head. "But at any rate, somebody's gathering the assets. Some of the cars have been sold already, through a broker, and the house is on the market. It's going to take a while to seize it, if we can even get a judge to agree. Brown laundered his money damn well. We have no idea where the wife and kid are. We were supposed to pull them out at the same time you went to the pier, but they were gone. Thought Brown had done it, but apparently not, from what you told us. 426 knew, but not Brown."

"Roy told me about the extraction operation. Thanks for nothing on that one, by the way." Smith rolled his eyes with mild annoyance, and Rally leaned back in her chair, tapping her chin. "Brown didn't pull them. O'Toole wouldn't have. That leaves Manichetti again."

"Damn, that's right." Smith snapped his fingers. "He pulled them himself? Yeah, he's got the connections for something like that! He's ex-Mafia. Got in trouble with his capo in about '92 and had to run. Brown picked him up and paid a fine for him. Manny still had a lot of friends in the business, though."

"He was _that_ concerned about Brown's family? And he didn't even tell Brown he was doing it? Why?"

"No idea. Guess he's just a nice guy." Smith grinned. "That partner of yours come in today?"

"Yes, May's with Agent Wesson." _Looking for a thick black folder…_

"Good. I'll talk to her later."

"I still have that Dragon tracer in my car. I have an idea, but I'm going to need the FBI's help to carry it out. I told you that 426 may be after me because of Huang, and probably since I took care of those assassins, even more so. I need some room to work in."

"Yeah? Ah." Smith smiled in comprehension. "Decoy operation?"

"Exactly. Someone drives my car around town while I investigate elsewhere. The only thing is, I don't have any leads on where to look yet. I don't know where their new HQ is, and neither does Larry Sam."

Smith got up and rummaged in a file cabinet. "We have a list of recently leased and sold properties in the area that would fit their needs. They'd want a whole building to themselves, naturally, so nothing too big or too small. I put red dots against the best prospects." He tossed a sheet on the desk. "Take down the addresses and check 'em out. You seem to have a nose for it. We'll have to loan you one of our cars, I suppose."

"I hear those are sacred objects." Rally jotted in her notebook.

"Yeah, you use a Bureau car—Bu-car, we say—on personal business, and you are hung out to dry." Smith grinned. "No worries. This is official. I'll check out a sports car for you. Don't so much as scratch it, though." He sat and wrote out an authorization form. "Anything else you need?"

"Well, I need someone to drive my car. I don't want to risk May on that, not alone."

"The GT-500?" Smith's eyes went wide and eager. "Hell, you got a volunteer right here."

"Uh…well, thanks, but I think I'll ask Roy."

"Coleman?" Smith looked crestfallen. "Why him?"

"He needs something to do, and he's been looking…I don't know. Not well." Rally shook her head, feeling concern. "All he talks about is Bean. What he's going to do to catch him when we're back in Chicago, and how many years of hard time he ought to pull. I guess he's mad that Bean would believe I stole that money. Or something." She shrugged. "I want to keep him busy."

"Hm. Well, you arrange that. I'll get together a detail to follow him while he drives." Smith picked up his phone.

"Thank you. He may get tailed. According to Larry, and some other things I've heard and witnessed, the Dragons generally drive new, imported luxury sedans, even the lower ranks."

"Yeah, that's right." Smith put down his phone. "OK? We done here? I can get this decoy operation going about one this afternoon and keep it up for four-five hours."

"That should be fine. I wanted to ask, have the ballistics tests been finished yet?" Rally bit her lip. "Is there a report? On the bullet that hit Huang?"

"I'd think Wesson has it by now. Ask him. He hasn't said." Smith handed Rally the car authorization. "OK, I'll talk to the kid now and you can brief Bob on Mr. Sam and the hospital fracas. Go and knock on his office door."

He turned to his papers again. Rally had examined Smith's desk carefully, but she had seen no sign of the black folder among the piles of paper. She hoped it hadn't been locked up or sent elsewhere. Walking into the hallway, she saw Wesson's door open and the agent escort May out.

"Hi, sweetie! Agent Smith's ready to see you." Rally suppressed a laugh at May's outfit: a short, frilly dress, very wide in the skirt and supported by lacy petticoats. She had tied her hair in pigtails, put on patent leather Mary Janes, and looked about nine years old. Wesson seemed unsettled, but nodded to Rally and indicated his office. "You tell Agent Wesson _all about_ Bean?" she asked May.

"Sure did!" piped May, winking at Rally and giving her an OK sign. She went into Smith's office and greeted him. Rally heard only a stunned silence from Smith, chortled to herself, and accompanied Wesson.

"So…Ms. Vincent," said Wesson as he sat down, and stopped there.

"Yes?" said Rally innocently.

"Ah…well, I don't have too many questions today. You'll be able to leave soon, I think." He took an envelope out of a drawer. "This is your FBI check to cover food and lodging, retroactive to last Sunday. Two thousand dollars. The SAC signed it this morning." Wesson pushed the envelope towards Rally and she grabbed it, gave it a smacking kiss and put it in her purse.

"Money! I like eating on government dough! Did May give you some good leads?"

Wesson jumped slightly. "Ah… Did she really work in a Chinese…brothel?"

"Uh-huh. You do know how old she really is, don't you?"

"Uh, yes." Wesson mopped his forehead. "Jesus Christ…"

Rally tried not to enjoy his distress too visibly. "Well, let's see…Agent Smith and I were discussing Manichetti. We figure he could be the one who extracted Brown's family and is liquidating the assets. You think he's got some special regard for the wife and kid?"

"Anything's possible," said Wesson absently. "Uh, that is…"

"You feeling OK, Agent?" asked Rally sweetly.

"Yes, yes. Fine. Um, that was quite a chase yesterday, hmm? And then defending a hospital room. Quite a day." He fanned himself with a folder.

"I thought so too." Obviously Wesson couldn't bring himself to utter a compliment, unlike Smith. Rally put a black mark against him and gave a gold star to his partner. "And I called it right on Bean, too, didn't I? Have those poor guys at the airport gotten to go home yet?"

Wesson heaved a sigh. "Yes. A few hours ago."

"No questions? How about that mondo scoop on Larry Sam, huh? Oh, and Agent Smith said you might have the ballistics report on Huang now. I would really like to see that, naturally."

Wesson jumped even more. "Ah…um, a messenger might have left it on my desk." He shuffled a few papers. "No, um, I don't see it."

Rally stared. "Okaaay." _You're mighty careless about something that important, Agent Wesson!_ "How about Brown's body?" she asked. "It's Friday, and they've been digging in that warehouse since Wednesday morning. Hasn't he turned up yet?"

"No, not yet. We've got FBI agents doing the forensic investigation now, and they are being very careful not to disturb things too much. You can go back to your hotel now. We'll drop your partner off there when she and Agent Smith are finished." He waved a nervous hand. "Nothing more today. Mr. Bandit has apparently left the Bay Area."

"Yes, apparently. So I get to go home now, right?"

"Uh…we'll have to iron that out with the SAC and coordinate with Chicago. In a little while, perhaps."

"I'll start packing," said Rally breezily, and left the office to find Roy.

* * *

"Tom?"

"Manny? What the hell're ye doin'? Where the hell are ye?"

"Coming up I-5. I'm going to get to Frisco in a few hours, maybe ten-thirty. I got to talk to you." Manichetti tucked his phone between chin and shoulder as he drove a black Range Rover north, heading past a high embankment with the burned skeleton of a 1968 Corvette Stingray lying at the bottom.

"Do ye? Yeh fockin' coward, ye left 'im to die in the fire!" O'Toole choked with grief and fury, clutching his cell phone so tightly his knuckles went white. "Yeh just motored off an' let 'im die!"

"Tom, c'mon, listen to me. There wasn't a damn thing I could do. He wanted to watch the goings-on for a while, so he stayed up at the top of the ladder after ya passed him the morphine. And…uh, then he crawled up through the hole into the warehouse again…like a, just a damn fool. I stayed there as long as I could. I heard him yelling, but I couldn't get up the frickin' ladder, and that fire was hot, naturally. I'm too damn heavy to climb a flimsy thing like that and I still got this sore leg from the throwing knife, you know? I had to beat it. I pulled the ladder and I went soon as Bandit dragged the girl off the other pier. They were the only ones in position to see the boat, but the cops were moving in. I had to beat it, see?"

O'Toole could not reply for weeping.

Manichetti went on. "I'm damn sorry, see? I know how ya felt about Mr. Brown, Tom." His voice thickened. "He died pretty quick, I promise ya. I ain't sayin' I don't blame myself some, you know? But that's the way it crumbles sometimes. Life is shit, my friend."

"Fock ye. Fock ye…"

"Tom, I heard you're with 426 now. Probably told him the girl shot his good friend, eh? Little risky, I think."

"I left the gun in th' boat!"

"He's gonna get the ballistics report, you know, right when the cops get it. 426 doesn't dilly-dally. And then you are going to die a _lot_ slower than Mr. Brown."

"No, I ain't going to." O'Toole let out a strangled chuckle. "I beat it already, now didn't I? Got me a bike and some firepower and I'm on me own. Th' Dragons showed me where everything's kept, and 426 went gallivantin' off somewhere last night. Seems they all get drunk and lay around when the boss ain't watching. I grabbed what I wanted and I left the place. So I'm workin' for meself now, ain't I? I'm goin' ta find that wee bitch and—"

"You're gonna need some help, Tom. You think the Dragons were bein' careless? Don't fucking bet on it. 426's got some reason for you to be on the loose. Like nobody traces the hit to him or you get yourself killed or somethin' like that. You can't do an operation like that without backup."

"Bollocks I can't!" yelled O'Toole. "Yeh fat bastard, just 'cause YE can't even climb a rope ladder wi'out a focking forklift, yeh think I'm—"

"Calm the fuck down, Tom. I want to help ya. Don't be dumb. You need all the help you can get now Mr. Brown's gone. He ain't gonna be bailing you out no more when you get too frisky with some tart. Hell, Interpol and the RUC's gonna nail your ass in double-quick time. There ain't no statute of limitations on settin' bombs in pubs, guy." Manichetti paused as silence filled the car. "You there, Tom?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You get my point? Let me help ya. You can kill the bounty hunter if you want to, and stick with me. You can have yer job and get paid. I'm no gunsel like you, Tom. I need ya to guard Mrs. Brown and the kid, 'cause you know 426 wants 'em bad."

"All fockin' right," said O'Toole savagely. "Fock ye anyway."

"Yer welcome. Now tell me what's up and where I can meet you."

O'Toole let out a long, simmering breath. "All fockin' right."

* * *

"I wanna see!" yelled Rally as May twirled into the hotel room in her frilly dress, grinning ear to ear. "What did you get?"

"I am the petty larceny queen!" shrieked May, flipping up her voluminous skirt. Under the petticoats hung a large plastic zipperlock bag, holding a black folder and a few stapled sheets of printed documents.

She yanked the bag off the fabric straps that held it suspended from her waist and tossed it onto the bed, then tore it open and brandished the contents. "No one dreamed I was anything but a very strange kid! Wesson went out for a few minutes to get coffee and left me with ALL his stuff—totally against security rules—and he was so rattled at the things I told him that he couldn't pay any attention to his papers anyway. If you want to _totally_ discombobulate him, by the way, mention 'golden showers'!"

"Eww!" said Rally, fairly discombobulated herself.

"Don't knock it! I did get the folder—it's the real thing, because I checked it before I stuffed it up my dress—_and_ I got something else very, VERY cool!"

"Really? What's that document?"

"Ballistics report, honey. The bullet in Huang's head." May waved it under her nose. "This is even BETTER than the folder!"

"What? That's saying something!" Rally took the report with burning curiosity and scanned it for a minute in amazement. "What? WHAT! It didn't MATCH!"

May jumped up and down, whooping. "No match! No match! Hahahhah! You are OFF THE HOOK, BABY!"

"I don't believe this!" Rally flipped all the pages again, looking at the magnified photos of the test-fired bullets and the killer slug. "It was a .32 slug, but it wasn't from that SFPD gun! Not the same striations! Not even close!" Rally whooped as well, hugging May and spinning her around off the floor. "You go, girl!"

"You betcha!"

Rally put May down. "Wait a second—Wesson didn't want to tell me! He knows, and he's scared stiff! Without that, the FBI doesn't have a hold on me—" She broke off. "Brown. There's still Brown, and the money Bean got. Oh well." Rally sat down, feeling a little weak, and dropped the report on the table with a long sigh of relief, letting her limbs collapse. "I didn't kill him…Thank God!"

"That's a giant load off in any case, huh? YOU didn't shoot Huang!"

"But who did, then? Geez—it could only have been O'Toole!" Rally gritted her teeth. "He saw my gun. He knew what its caliber was. And he could easily have fetched a similar one when he left." She shook a clenched fist. "That vicious little…! Brown probably told him to do it, too. It's possible I heard a gunshot right after the explosion while my ears were numb…"

"That Brown guy doesn't seem very dead, does he?" said May, sitting down to pull off her Mary Janes. "Keeps throwing crap at you from beyond the grave!"

"No kidding." Rally sat up straight. "You know… I keep hearing more and more inconsistencies. That might be a theory worth exploring…"

"That Brown's alive? But you were sure he was dead!"

Rally lay back again. "Yes, I was." Screams…dying screams, as she frantically tried to reach him, struggling against Bean's grip. Some of the horror of those moments came back to her, and she closed her eyes in pain.

"Oh, Ral…" May came to her and hugged her, kissing the top of her head. "That must have been such an AWFUL night…"

"Uh-huh." And the worst of it had been Bean. Not the money, not the deaths and carnage. Huang was no longer on her conscience, and some good had come from the attack on the restaurant, however dearly Larry had paid for his new courage. Now her sneaking feeling that Brown's death had not been all it seemed oddly cleared her mind. With the other traumas of that night set aside, she could look more directly at the one that still festered.

Bean. A friend's face, a face she now realized she carried with her like a talisman, a face that had shown compassion and desire and something more: turned into a demonic enemy, twisted in fury and murderous malice. And for what? A banged-up suitcase full of funny green paper.

She cast aside the memory of Bean's misery, the desolate undertone that had prompted her to let him go his way unchallenged. That had been sullen bile at losing all access to her body, she told herself. He'd coveted her for years and he'd known he would never have another chance—he'd thrown away even the slim possibility of it with both hands.

Her anger, which had somehow never really aimed directly at him, began to swell alarmingly. Probably he'd forgotten even that regret in some other woman's embrace by now. She didn't care. It didn't matter. Rally's burgeoning fury at what Bean had done to her without cause began to erase all her objectivity, and even her charity.

Only a small corner of her mind still told her that if Bean ever came back and asked her forgiveness, sadness over their lost friendship—she could not bring herself to name it anything more elevated—would be the only thing that would ever redeem him.

"Someone's gathering Brown's assets," Rally said, trying to calm herself with analysis. "The best guess we had was Manichetti, and that makes only a small amount of sense. No body yet, and the fire might not have been intense enough to kill someone at the bay end of the warehouse. Plus, Wesson said that the roof had collapsed at THAT end, even though I know that the big blast was at the front. O'Toole got out somehow, since he ended up on the secondary pier taking shots at Dragons. And he _wouldn't_ have left Brown in a dangerous spot! That I know for sure, from all kinds of sources."

Larry Sam's story had some resonance here…just how deep was O'Toole's attachment to Brown? "May…if you were going to escape inconspicuously out of a concrete-floored pier during a firefight, from a dead end with no doors, and you had lots of time to set up charges beforehand, how would you do it?"

"Hmm… I'd blow a hole and make a trap door. A small one, just big enough for a person." May moved over to the dresser to put on jeans and a T-shirt. "Small shaped charges in a ring for precision, and smokers to hide the result. If I didn't want anyone to realize what I'd done right away, I might put some charges on the roof to weaken it and set it on fire so it would collapse soon after. And I'd use something large as a covering explosion. With a blast as big as the one you described, no one would notice a smaller one going off at the same time. The FBI should look UNDER the pier!"

"He could have escaped." Rally's heart started to beat furiously. "It's possible. Brown could be alive."

"But you said he screamed in agony! You said you tried to get in to save him!" May ran over and hugged Rally again. "You were so upset, honey!"

"The man was an ACTOR!" Rally spat. "A really good one! He could change personas, accents, vocabulary—on a moment's notice! Screaming his head off would NOT be a stretch! Ooooh!" Rally leaped up and stomped across the room. "If he's not dead, I'm going to KILL him!"

"I'll second that motion!"

"So maybe he faked his death! THAT'S why he pulled me into his defection! That is what it was all about…no, wait."

"What?"

"I wondered about that. Brown seemed to want me to shoot him. O'Toole herded me back towards Brown when I tried to escape, and when he had me pinned, he called Brown out of the office…out of cover. He'd said 'just do it myself and that'll have to do', something like that, and Brown said that was too much to ask. O'Toole loved Brown. LOVED him, and of course Brown knew it. Asking him to shoot Brown _would_ have been too much to ask. Probably would have shook so hard he'd have ruined his aim! But Brown _had_ to get shot! By me, or at least with my gun, and they wanted me to stay alive and escape with it, because O'Toole could have simply killed me and taken the gun. He had lots of chances."

"This is heading somewhere," said May, looking scared. The black folder lay forgotten on the bed.

"You bet it is. Ballistics."

"Ballistics?" asked May, picking up the report.

"They wanted a spent bullet from my gun. One that had been fired into a body, because bullets deform differently according to what they strike. Hitting Kevlar or a solid surface flattens them much more than hitting flesh—the difference is blatant. I shot a lot of bullets in that warehouse—into the office ceiling, into the solid wooden wall, into O'Toole's armored vest, and four through the glass wall, of which only the last one or two hit Brown. There are spent bullets of mine lying all over in there. But O'Toole was going to set a fire, which would quickly melt the lead. The only way they could be sure of having a properly deformed bullet, identifiable as mine, was to have it in someone's body. Someone who was going to escape the place before it went up. It fit Brown's plan to fake his death for that person to be him."

Rally let out a long, heated breath. "My God. He was braver than I gave him credit for, even if it was in a cause like that."

"But… how could they know you were not going to KILL him?" gasped May.

"I don't kill people unless I absolutely have to, May. I'm not a murderer. Brown had to know that about me. I operate on the principle that even a scumbag like him deserves basic human consideration, for my own sake if not for his. I wouldn't shoot him in a fatal spot, because he was already crippled. I would shoot if he were about to kill me or someone else—which he was, through O'Toole—and even then I would go for a disabling shot if at all possible. I'm one of the best target shooters I know, and it carries over to combat situations, even with a lousy little gun. I don't miss what I'm aiming at. Brown worked all that out and made it happen because he was, or is, a dead-on self-taught psychologist, an amazing researcher and an excellent actor, which are very nearly all the same thing."

"This guy sounds like a totally meticulous planner. This does not sound like a guy who would accidentally die in a fire after he set up all the factors."

"Nope, it doesn't. But that's not what I'm truly wondering about. Brown and O'Toole didn't realize that the mini was a loaner. They thought I was going to keep using it after that night, and that it would be plausible that someone else would die with a distinctively striated .32 through the head or the heart in the near future. What I really want to know is…for whose murder was I going to be framed?"

* * *

"This gives me the creeps, " said May, looking around and shivering as Rally deposited her FBI check into an automatic teller on a busy street outside their hotel. Shoppers and office workers streamed by on the sidewalk and the noontime traffic moved slowly. "It feels like big, shapeless, invisible things all around us. Conspiracies and plots and…malice. Or something."

"You sound like you need some lunch, sweetie."

"My tummy's BAD." May rubbed it, making a tongue-out expression of nausea. "Yes, let's eat."

Rally took out a hundred dollars in twenties and tucked them in her purse. "We're set for food. Want to eat somewhere nicer today?"

"Sure! How about Thai?"

"Oh, no…" groaned Rally. "Not Thai!" Visions of children chained to beds… "Sweetie, you are so lucky you had a CHOICE about working where you did!"

"Man, you have developed a lot of food prejudices lately!"

"OK, OK—you pick the restaurant! I have no say in this whatsoever, and it's your stomach, anyway!" Rally threw up her hands.

"Sounds like yours is growling, too!"

"Huh?" She heard a distant rumble, growing louder even above the noisy street traffic. "That's not my stomach. Sounds like…a Harley."

Rally looked around and spotted it coming from the southeast. "Oooh! Looks like a brand-new Night Train. Nice bike!"

The rider seemed smallish for such a big raked-fork machine, but barged through traffic with little caution, splitting the lanes and heading right up the street toward them. He wore a black helmet with a face panel that entirely obscured his features. "He's not going to keep that bike shiny for long, riding it like that—"

Rally looked at the rider more closely as he came within fifty yards. A wiry little man in a dark green jumpsuit, his movements quick and sure. Her heart jumped and began to beat faster. "May, get back! I think I recognize that guy!"

"Who?" May retreated into the architectural recess around the automatic teller machine and peered out.

"O'Toole!" said Rally. The rider was barely ten yards away now. "Watch it!" He jumped the curb and barreled straight at her, pulling an Uzi as the pedestrians fled and screamed. Rally threw herself backwards out of the motorcycle's path, drawing her CZ75 at the same moment, and their shots went off simultaneously.

KRAK! Rally's nine-millimeter hit O'Toole square in the chest, punching a hole in his jumpsuit and sending up a puff of dust from the armored vest underneath. BRAAP! His burst plowed into the automatic teller behind her and smashed holes in the screen, and he zoomed past close enough to touch, his snarling face faintly visible under the dark plexiglass face panel. "May! Do you have any of your—"

"Two confetti bombs, that's all! Everything else is in the car!"

O'Toole rammed through the crowd and over the curb, made a turn about twenty yards away and swerved back, aiming directly at them again. "He's making another pass! Get ready!"

May threw her confetti bombs, but O'Toole ignored them and drove through the cloud of pink smoke without swerving a millimeter from his course.

"Damn!" Rally fired into the smoke and heard a bullet carom off O'Toole's helmet. It hit a parked car. "Oh, no, the helmet's bulletproof! I'm going to send ricochets into the crowd!" BRAAAP! He let off another burst at her, which barely missed her head as she ducked, and threw fragments of glass and metal from the automatic teller all over.

"May! Run into a building! NOW!" Rally shoved her partner toward an open store entrance. May gave her a glance and ran.

O'Toole paralleled her, knocking people aside with the big black Harley and aiming directly at her blonde head. Rally fired. KRAK KRAK went the CZ75, the Uzi acquiring two holes through the receiver and jamming as he tried to fire.

O'Toole threw it down and drew his Colt .45 as he skidded to a J-turn stop, facing Rally from about fifteen yards down the sidewalk.

May made it through the door and slammed it behind her. Rally ducked into the architectural recess as the machine groaned and whined, beginning to spit out twenty-dollar bills at a great rate. O'Toole put down the kickstand, got off the motorcycle and leveled his .45.

All around him, people hollered into their cell phones and ran, but the crowd was still thick. A few people even tried to retrieve some of the flying money. _KRAK KRAK KRAK_ crashed the .45 into the bricks right in front of her face, spraying dust and shards everywhere and into her unprotected eyes. She was half blinded!

Blinking and tearing, Rally yanked her trigger as O'Toole advanced, firing again and again at his chest in the hope of slowing him down a little. He staggered—he didn't have Bean's imperviousness—but he kept coming.

Rally's blindness worsened, her eyes burning and stinging so much that she could barely open them to tell where O'Toole was. There wasn't a chance that she could take off his trigger finger with a random shot, and she couldn't see well enough to aim at anything other than his general shape.

She slid down the wall, trying to get a lower vantage point. Bills fluttered around her head, which didn't help the visibility one bit. O'Toole came up, moved around the wall to her and aimed. Rally fired straight up at him, at the gap between vest and helmet, and the bullet hit the lower edge of the helmet, deflecting into the padding and through it.

"Arrgh!" O'Toole bellowed, and tore off the helmet, seizing his face in his left hand. His rusty hair stood up in sweaty spikes, his mouth bleeding profusely and his lower jaw oddly out of alignment. The bullet had probably broken it, but he was still standing and in commission.

Incoherently, O'Toole screamed at her, his eyes filling with tears of pain, and fired wildly, bullets hitting the sidewalk and wall behind her as she rolled out of the way. _KRAK KRAK KRAK KRAK!_

Rally lunged for his knees and knocked him down. They fell to the sidewalk together with a severe jolt, Rally cushioned by O'Toole's body as he hit the back of his head on the concrete, and she sat hard on his stomach, holding his arms down with her knees.

She struck him across the face with her CZ75 when he struggled, and then yanked at the zipper of his jumpsuit and tore at the Velcro straps to open his bullet-resistant vest. It slipped and she glimpsed a strange burn on his upper chest. Sirens started to whine in the distance.

"Ooaaggh!" yelled O'Toole through his broken jaw, trying to aim. Rally got a foot on his right hand and stomped the .45 to the concrete as she stood up, aiming her gun down at his exposed chest. A twenty soared down like an autumn leaf and rested on the strange burn.

"Give up, O'Toole!" she shouted, her vision still blurry. His answer was not understandable, but he whipped his left hand around and grabbed her left ankle with a movement so swift she couldn't avoid it.

Rally barely saved herself from falling as O'Toole jerked her leg and rolled over. He crouched on the sidewalk and fired at Rally as she dodged. _KRAK KRAK!_ One bullet whistled through her hair, another grazed her shoulder.

Rally wiped her eyes on her sleeve and finally recovered some clarity. O'Toole's head was exposed, and she drew a bead on his right eye, the sulfurous iris glaring at her. He fumbled with his .45, popping the clip and pulling out another nine-round magazine to replace the empty one.

Rally shot it out of his hand. "Freeze!" she yelled. "Throw away the gun!" The sirens came nearer. Instead of staying where he was, O'Toole launched himself at her quick as a striking cobra, grabbing for her CZ75.

They wrestled for a moment, O'Toole's sour breath in her face and his hands corded with effort. Strength versus strength, he had more muscle than she, and her gun began to part from her grip.

Rally gritted her teeth with a touch of panic, trying to twist the barrel around to aim at him. She couldn't, and her fingers slipped, weakening. As well as he could with a broken jaw, O'Toole grinned bloody-toothed, eyes burning with pain, fury and dawning triumph.

Rally drove a knee into his testicles, and he let out a gasp, grip loosening. Again she whipped the CZ75 across his face, hitting his broken jaw, and he howled in agony, doubling over. Rally tried to slam her gun into the back of his head, but O'Toole recovered, karate-kicked her in the stomach and staggered her.

Breaking free, he dashed for his Harley. May emerged from the store with a long clothes-rack pole and swung it at him as he revved the engine. She hit him and lost the pole, but O'Toole kept his seat and zoomed past Rally, jumping the motorcycle off the curb into the street.

She took a snap shot at his rear tire, gasping for breath, but put out a tail light instead. Rally and May ran for the Cobra, parked at the curb, and followed with squealing tires and a cloud of flying money behind them. Pedestrians converged on the malfunctioning cash machine.

May turned on the FBI radio and yelled into the handset. "O'Toole! Heading northeast on Market from Kearny! Black Harley-Davidson Night Train!"

"We got the call from the SFPD!" came Gonzales's voice. "Police heading your way!"

"He's evading me!" said Rally. "He can get through all the gaps on that bike!" O'Toole had accelerated to about a hundred miles an hour in congested traffic, slicing between stopped cars, and Rally had no chance of keeping up. "This isn't going to work!"

"There are units about to head him off," said Gonzales.

"He's way ahead now—going fast," said May. "Oh, no! What's that?"

A black Range Rover had pulled out from the curb, and started to run interference for the Harley. Two SFPD cars approached from the opposite direction and attempted to block the motorcycle's path, but the Range Rover bumped them and created enough gap to let O'Toole through, then reversed towards the Cobra.

"Who the hell's driving that?" For a cold, horrible instant, she was sure it was Bean. Rally looked and saw the face in the rear-view as the Range Rover came closer. A thick, jowly man with sunglasses and dark curly hair—Manichetti. "Shit!"

The Range Rover leaped forward again and swerved into a small cross street as the Harley receded into the distance. Rally knew she could not pass the damaged police cars in the road, and took the right after Manichetti instead. She could see him glance at her in the mirror.

Both of them accelerated up a narrow road lined with parked cars, barely enough room for one lane left between them. The Range Rover crossed an intersection just in front of another car, which screeched to a stop, and Rally had to brake to avoid hitting it since there was no room to swerve around. Manichetti gained two blocks on her before she could squeeze past and pursue him again.

Suddenly, far ahead, he took a hard right in the middle of a block, seemingly into a brick wall, and vanished.

"What the hell? Where did he go?" Rally passed a series of louvered metal garage doors set into the wall of the building. All of them were closed. "Damn!" She slowed down and circled the block, hoping to see him emerge, but saw no Range Rover.

"He went into a garage, 800 block of Octavia Street," said May into the radio. "It looks like a factory or a warehouse—private property."

"Who cares!" said Rally, braking and looking for a parking spot. "I'll just barge in there and—"

"You can't do that, Ms. Vincent," said Wesson over the radio. "You have no search warrant, and that's not a public garage."

"What? I'm a bounty hunter! I don't need a search warrant!"

"You are on official FBI business, I would remind you. That makes you technically a law enforcement officer, for now. You must observe the legal rules. I must say, your methods are not only sloppy, they border on—"

"Oh, SHIT! Not only am I the FBI's property, I have to go by the BOOK!" Rally's fury knew no bounds. "Wesson, I KNOW I'm not the one who killed Huang! SO KEEP YOUR GODDAMN GOVERNMENT SCRUPLES TO YOURSELF, YOU—!"

"What!" said Wesson in similar fury. "How did you—"

Rally bit her tongue. She'd almost given May away! "Just a lucky guess! I saw how rattled you were this morning when I asked for the ballistics report! So there!" She shut off the radio and kept circling the block.

"God, Rally," said May, turning a little pale. "I know you don't like the agents, but you have got to be more careful."

"I'm sorry! My lips are sealed!" Three SFPD cars came up, and Rally rolled down the window to speak to them, pointing at the garage doors. "Hi, officers! This is the building."

"We'll keep an eye on it, ma'am. Black Range Rover, California plates?"

"Exactly. And the driver—white, name of Manichetti, about forty, six-zip, two hundred and eighty. Brown and brown."

"Got it."

Rally took a deep breath, her adrenaline beginning to ebb. "Officer, do you know a patrolman named Tony White?"

The cop looked up from his notebook. "Yes…"

"Is he OK? I know he was hurt yesterday. And the armorer at the main HQ? What's going on with that?"

"Armorer's on suspension. The guy who runs the firing range got a reprimand. The police union's fighting both judgments."

"All right. And White?"

"He's in the hospital. Got surgery and he's all racked out on a frame to keep his back straight. Maybe he'll walk, maybe he won't."

"Thank you," said Rally quietly, and drove May to lunch.

* * *

"We're all set," Smith told her over the phone. "Coleman's at your hotel and ready to start from there, and we'll have two cars following. Me and Wesson, and Gonzales and Bui in the other. You take care of that Miata, now."

"Sure will, Agent." Rally patted the FBI car's dashboard. "It's a cute little thing!"

"Nothing compared to the Cobra, I know. But you don't want to be too distinctive, of course."

"No." She wanted to ask Smith if he had seen the ballistics report yet, but decided to wait until she saw him in person. Preferably with Wesson in the room. It was almost certain that Smith knew nothing about it, since she doubted that he was the kind to keep such a thing from her. Of course, on the other hand, he had not told her about the rescue operation in Los Angeles.

She had left May at the hotel, telling her to hide the black folder in a safe place until later, and although May had looked disappointed, she had agreed to keep it concealed and not read it until a safer time.

Rally had picked up the Miata at the Federal Building and given her Cobra to Roy, who had perked up slightly when she'd told him his help was valuable. He had a haunted look, patting her shoulder frequently, though gingerly, and could not get off the subject of Bean and his various malfeasances.

Rally checked her list of properties. "OK, you told me that the garage Manichetti went into is owned by interests connected to the Mafia, not the Triads."

"Yes. We're getting a search warrant now, but I warn you, it's not likely he's still there, even with the SFPD stakeout. Some of those old buildings have tunnels connecting the basements, and the Mob seeks them out."

"Oh, great. Hmm…that would seem to say that Manichetti and O'Toole are not working with the Dragons. But I saw something on O'Toole's chest…a fresh burn. It wasn't a random blotch. It was a drawing."

"A _drawing_?"

"Like a Chinese character. Of course, I don't read Chinese. I copied down what I could remember. May's not sure what it was, since she never learned to write more than a few characters. But there's only one person I can think of who could, or would, have done that to him."

"You thinking of 426?"

"Yes. That must have been done with a blowtorch, and he would have been howling in pain when it happened. Looked very fresh. The question is, why didn't 426 just kill him, if he had hold of him?"

"Don't know. Not like 426, I admit…I've talked a little to Mr. Sam today. When I could get through the well-wishing crowds, that is. The Asian business community has taken up a collection for the Sams, and it's pushing a hundred thousand dollars by now. They should have no trouble setting up anew in any location they want."

"That's wonderful, Agent Smith."

"Hey, call me Pete, huh? You and the FBI may be working together for a while longer, Miss Rally."

That prospect did not bother her nearly as much as it once had, except in regard to Smith's partner. "OK, Pete." Rally smiled. "I will see you later, when I've finished my real estate tour."

"You OK with just the cell phone for contact?"

"I think the radio would be too obvious. And I can't carry it anyway. I might as well use the phone."

"Your call…literally." Smith chuckled. "Be careful, now."

Rally clicked off and consulted her city map, circling locations. Most of the buildings were in the business district and south of Market, and she decided to park the Miata in the general vicinity and do most of the tour on foot. She had already discovered how difficult it was to find spaces to park in that area, and it would speed things up, even considering the walking time.

She cruised down a busy street, enjoying the little car's pep, and circled for a few minutes until she saw another car pulling away from the curb. Rally snagged the space and got out.

She had dressed in her professional outfit of short black skirt, collared shirt and tie, and wore black flats and a tan jacket to hide her holstered CZ75. There was the first building, right at the corner, and she had ten to check off the list. Rally took a deep breath, walked through the front door, and got started.

* * *

"Ooaagghh! Ooooaaarrrggh!"

"Keeh-rihst, Tom. You're gonna wake up the kid." Manichetti looked through the door of the tract-house kitchen and shook his head. "Didn't ya give him something, Doc?"

"Two entire ampules of morphine," said the sweating doctor, trying to hold O'Toole's head still on the table and fit a wire brace to his broken jaw as he screamed. Blood spattered the vinyl floor. "Doesn't seem to have much effect."

"OOOOAAGGGHH!" howled O'Toole.

"Give him a few shots of whiskey," said Manichetti, and ducked his head around the corner to look at someone down the hall. "He's just kinda hurting, ma'am. Hasn't got much pain threshold for a guy in his line."

"Please, Manny," said a feminine voice, and an elegantly slim blonde woman looked around the corner, her lovely face creasing in reluctant sympathy as O'Toole continued to howl and thrash. "Can't we stay somewhere else? Do we have to…" She lowered her voice. "I don't like having him around. Not just the noise, Manny. You know what I mean."

"Don't I, though," Manichetti replied, guiding her into the hallway. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I thought he'd come in handy. Not like I have a lot of choices in bodyguards right now. The Dragons don't fool around."

"I know." She looked at him, her cornflower blue eyes trusting and ingenuous. "Sly never told me how much danger he was in, and this is something I have even less experience with. You know best, Manny." A small voice murmured, and a bedroom door eased open. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry it's so noisy. Mr. O'Toole got hurt."

"He gets hurt a lot," said the child, wrinkling her nose. "He smells bad, too."

"Come back into your room, baby." Sarah Brown patted the girl's dark-blonde hair. "Come with Mama, Tiffy."

"I don't wanna take a nap. I don't like this room. I like my old room. It was bigger. I want to talk to Daddy." The girl hugged her stuffed animal. The adults looked at each other with trepidation.

"Daddy's not here, honey. He took another trip. Please go take your nap, or you'll get all tired before dinner, baby. Just for Mama, honey?" She bent and kissed one rosy cheek, and the girl sighed, looking up at Manichetti with a luminous gaze, big brown eyes rimmed with dark lashes.

"Does Manny say I got to take a nap?"

"Yep," said Manichetti, and picked the girl up, bumping the bedroom door open with his knee in a practiced motion. "Miss Tiffany has got to take her nap. C'mon, I'll read you a story."

"Read me a story, Manny," said the girl, cuddling in his arms. "I want a story."

"You bet," he said, and he and Sarah Brown went into the child's bedroom, closing the door behind them. About twenty minutes later, the yelling from the kitchen having ceased, they tiptoed out and gently closed the door again. "Hope she sleeps a while," said Manichetti. Smiling, he looked at Sarah Brown. "This'll be over soon as I get the papers and the cash, ma'am. We can all get to Switzerland and meet up there. Mr. Brown arranged everything."

She nodded, also smiling, and reached up to smooth a lock of hair from his forehead. The look in his eyes threatened to spread to his entire broad face, but he made an effort and tamped it down. "You might want to get some rest too, ma'am. No telling when we might have to blow town."

Sarah Brown nodded again and went into another bedroom. Manichetti turned around to see O'Toole leaning alone against the kitchen door, his jaw wired partway shut and his eyes bloodshot. He raised a large tumbler full of whiskey and downed half, dribbling it along his cheeks as Manichetti watched. "Somethin', Tom?"

"Ain't the snip gettin' sweet on ye," said O'Toole in a venomous tone, muffled by the wire brace and a drunken slur. "Wraps ye around 'er little pinky finger, don't she? Why don't ye lick 'er boots and be done with it?"

"Shut the fuck up, Tom," said Manichetti. "You are fucking drunk."

"Like I got a choice? Fockin' bitch broke me fockin' jaw an' it focking hurts. I hate women. Hate 'em. I hate that nigger bitch worse'n any woman I ever knew. Even me old ma, God blast her black soul, didn't never shoot me in the fockin' face." He started to cry. "Paki bitch burned me sweet lad. I didn't never love no one in me life 'til I met Sylvester Brown. Fockin' woman took him from me. He's gone, me darlin' lad. Didn't never get to kiss his sweet lips…"

Manichetti rolled his eyes. "You gonna be so drunk you'll tell me your goddamn sex fantasies, do it someplace else. Don't do it around the kid. She don't know her daddy's dead, and we aren't going to tell her yet. So shut up and get out've the house until you're sober."

"Yeah, why should I be hangin' around, anyway? Why would I want ta work for the snip an' the brat without me darlin' lad about? I didn't sign on ta nursemaid that hoity-toity bitch—I'd like to see 'er all spread out an' beggin' for more, wouldn't I now?" He let out a sloppy laugh, drawing a large knife. "That'd put 'er in 'er place, now wouldn't it? Give 'er me hard nine inches and watch 'er…oogghh!"

Manichetti had punched him in the stomach, his eyes blazing dark fire. The whiskey splashed the wall as the glass rolled across the carpet. "Get out've here! And don't bother coming back, you fucking savage! Guess the fucking Micks never got out've their caves!"

"Yeh greasy wop sodomite!" O'Toole got out, gasping and waving the knife. "Yeh fat bastard Eyetalians all fuck yer mothers, don't ye now? Ye like going in where ye came out?"

"Get your shit and get out," said Manichetti, drawing his .40 Beretta and cocking it with a deliberate click. "I don't want to see your ugly face again as long as I live."

O'Toole gave him an evil look, sheathed the knife and lurched down the hallway to the garage door. A few minutes later, he emerged with a duffel and his rifle strapped across his back, slammed the front door open and left. The roar of a big Harley started in the driveway and receded, the tires skidding irregularly.

Manichetti let out a long sigh of equal parts relief and foreboding, holstered the gun, and knocked gently on Sarah Brown's bedroom door.

* * *

"And this is the Web designer's area," said an eager young man, showing Rally around the sixth property at which she had inquired. "See, we have a juke box and a pool table, and the pinball machine's over there. The vending machines are all subsidized." He picked up a quarter from a basket full and put it in the slot of a Coke machine. "You want something to drink?"

"No, thanks," said Rally, politely but a little wearily. "Uh, I don't see a lot of actual work going on." Several other young men, most of them badly out of shape and dressed in T-shirts advertising video games, stood around the pool table drinking sodas and laughing loudly. "Isn't it a little late in the afternoon for lunch breaks?"

"Oh, we have a flexible hours policy," said the young man. "Some of these guys stay here all night. Sleep right under the desks—there's Mark's camp cot."

"I can see why," she remarked, glancing into one of the cubicles. A twenty-inch television with enormous speakers sat on the desk, and three more young men, two of them Asian, and one woman were watching a videotape of 'Big Trouble in Little China'. "I doubt they have all this cool stuff at home."

"Yeah, you have a point…um, are you a journalist or a venture capitalist?"

"Freelancer," said Rally, and gave him a card.

"Bounty hunter? Wow—like Steve McQueen in 'The Hunter'?"

"Yes, _exactly_ like that," said Rally with sweet sarcasm, and left. Out on the street, she looked at the sun declining behind the high-rises and checked her watch. Nearly four. She would go to one more place and call it a day. Taking out her cell phone, she tried to call Smith. The phone was dead.

"Aw, crap." She'd forgotten to charge the battery the previous night, so it hadn't lasted. Rally put the phone back in her purse and headed down the sidewalk.

Her car was now about one and a half miles distant, and she groaned at the prospect of walking back all that way, her feet starting to ache. But the next address, 108 Redwood Lane, was only a block away, and she might as well check it first before heading back. The discreet sign out front said 'World Trade International'.

All the businesses she had checked had been utterly innocuous, though she might have put Internet enterprises on the questionable list, and her instincts told her nothing as she moved through a revolving door and walked up to yet another reception desk with yet another security camera behind it. "Hi."

The woman behind the desk was Asian, as had been three other front-office people, and she smiled at Rally. "May I help you?"

"Oh, I'm from out of town. Just getting a feel for the business climate in the Bay Area. I'm thinking of relocating. Could anyone tell me about the facilities here?" She'd told a slightly different story in each place, but generally got the best results with a smile and an easy manner, no matter what the pretext might be.

"Oh, the building manager's here. He's got some other properties for lease. He'd be glad to talk to you." The receptionist picked up a phone and spoke into it. "He'll be right out."

Rally took a seat in the lobby, glad to take the load off her feet for a moment. In a few minutes, a thirtyish man emerged from the double doors behind the reception desk; a bleached-blonde Caucasian wearing an earring and a casual suit. "Hello there. I hear you're interested in the building. Well, I'm interested in keeping that interest, Ms.—?"

"Victor," said Rally. "Ruth Victor."

"Oooh, sounds tough. You must be an aggressive negotiator." He had a salesman's manner, but that was to be expected. Rally smiled back at him and got up to follow.

Through the double doors, a featureless corridor ran to the back of the building, broken by occasional doors. "This is just my storage and maintenance rooms on the ground floor," said the building manager. "The offices are upstairs, and the garage goes down three levels, though it doesn't cover the entire architectural footprint. There's a partial basement that's fireproof and earthquake proof—there was going to be a bank vault in there."

He nattered on for several minutes, listing every amenity. "Lots of employee parking, and even living quarters on the second and third floors. Now about the seismic upgrades—"

"Living quarters?" Rally chuckled. Now that seemed to be going a bit far, even in a world of camp cots in cubicles. "This World Trade International have flexible hours or something?"

"Oh, something like that. They have a big sales force that goes out on assignments all the time. People here all around the clock." The manager assumed a confidential air. "Now, don't tell anyone I told you, but I'm not sure they're entirely on the up and up."

Rally's mind gave off a slight alarm. "How so?" Probably he meant that they took investor's money and spent it on pool tables, but maybe she was getting warm at last.

"Well, they generally pay the rent in cash. Always on time, and they don't ask for every little thing to be fixed. I'd have to say they're good tenants. But I keep getting hassles from the bank about the big cash deposits. Some dumb law."

"You mean, the anti-racketeering laws? Not so dumb."

"Oooh, you're into law and order? Sounds exciting."

"Totally," said Rally, looking around with every sense alert. "Any chance I can see the garage? Or this basement vault?" She'd get a feel for the place, maybe some actual confirmation, and scoot—the FBI could do the rest.

"Not the basement. They say there's some hazardous materials in there, but they have all the permits, so I don't care. The garage is no problem."

The manager took out a ring of keys and unlocked a door. "Stairwell. The fire exits are all up to code." Rally followed him down the stairs to the bottom and through another door to the garage. It was well-lit and new-looking, partially filled with sleek cars. "They must pay well, hmm? Look at these jalopies."

She did, noting that they were almost uniformly imported luxury sedans. Over in a roped-off section, however, were a number of motorcycles and SUVs. Rally walked over to them, checking makes and models.

Behind a large Ford Expedition stood a black-on-black Harley-Davidson, the logo shining silver on the gas tank. A big Night Train, looking brand new except for some scrapes along the sides and a shattered tail light. Someone had left the keys in the ignition, as if too hurried or distracted or in too much pain to remember to take them. A few smears of blood were visible on the handlebars.

"OK, I've seen enough. Thank you so much. May I have your card?"

"Yeah, here you go. Give me a call, or there's the fax number—" He broke off, glancing over her shoulder. Rally's sixth sense flared, finally, when she could tell it was already too late.

The person ten yards behind her spoke, slurring with fading drunkenness and a injured jaw, but familiar, deep and growling with a hint of Irish lilt.

"And if it ain't the pretty girlie," he said. "Little Paki bitch."

Rally turned around, slowly, and watched eight Dragon men approach from another door, spreading around O'Toole with drawn automatic weapons, Uzis and Tek-9s. If she tried to run, they would cut her into pieces in an instant, and probably kill the petrified building manager as well.

O'Toole grinned at her, his nicotine-stained teeth rimmed in dark yellow. "Yeh killed me darlin' lad. An' just look at this damn wire on me handsome face, an' me poor ear. What ought I do to ye?"

He looked at the building manager, who beat a hasty, cowardly retreat to the stairwell. His steps clanged up the stairs and faded.

Two of the larger Dragons came forward and grabbed her arms, taking her CZ75 and the .25 from the wrist slide. One man decocked them and put the .25 in his pocket. He replaced the CZ75 in the holster, draping it over his shoulder.

"Try letting me go, O'Toole," said Rally, mostly succeeding in keeping her voice steady. "The cops and the FBI know I'm here."

"Bollocks they do. They don't send little girlies to do a man's job." He unzipped his nylon jacket and nodded at the men who held her arms. "Put her flat." They forced her to her knees, then prone, her arms bent behind her. Each man knelt on the back of one knee, heavily and painfully. Was he going to shoot her in the back of the skull?

O'Toole's feet were right in front of her face. He caressed her cheek with one booted toe. "This won't take long, fellas, an' then ye can all have yer turns, those that care to. We'll save a few bits for the latecomers." Drawing back the boot, O'Toole kicked Rally hard in the face, laughing at her cry of pain.

"You're going to regret this, you bastard..." she gasped.

"I'm already regrettin' I ever heard yer name, yeh wee bitch. But I'll have me fun, won't I? Me sweet lad's lookin' down from heaven and nodding his approval, ain't he?" O'Toole moved behind her, and she heard his jacket hit the floor.

He knelt on it, between her legs, and yanked her skirt up over her buttocks, then tore her hose apart at the crotch seam. Rally twisted violently, but the men holding her ground her knees into the concrete and forced her face down.

"Oh, I like 'em wiggling. Keep it up, girlie, and I'll be right there with yeh." She heard O'Toole unzip his pants, sick horror bringing the bile to her mouth. With a desperate arch of her back, she lashed her entire body from side to side and dislodged the crushing weights from her legs.

"No! NO!" Scrambling on concrete, she skinned her knees badly, but ignored the pain. Rally got to her feet and ran, steps pounding close behind her. Reaching a support column, she looped an arm around it and launched herself in an arc around and back at her pursuers.

Her shoes took one Dragon in the face and another in the shoulder, and she landed. Two men tried to grab her, but Rally dodged and rammed one elbow into the nearest stomach. The owner went down, gasping. Four more came at her as O'Toole stood back, grinning.

"No exits, girlie. Locked all the doors on the inside. Takes a car or a bike ta trigger the garage gate, so it's no good runnin' that way either. Saw yeh on the security cam and we just had ta come greet ye. Proper welcome, eh?"

Rally fought desperately, knowing exactly what was going to happen to her: inevitably, inescapably. She had no gun, no chance unarmed against so many.

From somewhere deep inside her came a silent prayer, breathed out through clenched teeth. She chopped and kicked, struggled out of clutching grasps and went down at last under three heavy men, her bones jarring on the hard surface. _God, help me,_ she prayed. _God, be with me now. God, let me come to you quickly…_

"Don't I get an invite?" asked someone a little distance off. "You guys startin' the party without me, when I said I'd be here?"

She knew that voice too. Through her roaring ears, pounding with her own heartbeats, it was hard to make out at first. It spoke again in reply to someone's remark.

"Hey, I may be new, but I know the rules around here. Share one, share all. Glad I called in when I did. Had a long drive this morning and I'm lookin' for a little pick-me-up. How about it?"

It was Bean.


	14. Chapter 14

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Fourteen**

"What the fock d'YE want?" snarled O'Toole, starting forward. "I got 'er first, ye overgrown—"

"Nah," said Bean. "I reckon _I_ got dibs on that lady."

"Blow off! Ye can kiss me hairy white—"

"O'Toole," said one of the Dragons in a diplomatic tone. "The Roadbuster's visiting us because of her, you know? He just called a few minutes ago to find out where to meet with 426, and we told him he was right on time, 'cause the bitch bounty hunter just walked in our damn front door. So stay cool and wait your turn."

"Bollocks I will!" O'Toole shouted. Everyone ignored him.

"That her gun?" asked Bean absently, looking at Rally's holster on the Dragon's shoulder. "Y'know, she sure liked to point that thing at my head. Shot me yesterday, right here on the headband." He beckoned and the man came forward. "Yeah, lemme see that." Bean reached for the CZ75 and drew it out, holding it by the back of the slide. "Loaded, huh?"

"Hey! Why'd ye give that to 'im?"

"What he gonna do with it?" scoffed the man with the holster. "Roadbusta one of us now. Or gonna be, soon he hehp us do bounty hunta."

Chuckles and lewd guffaws all round, and Rally closed her eyes as she lay face up on the concrete, held down by four men. Grey, cold and grey. Possibly this was the worst moment of her life, but then again, it would be over soon. She would have to endure it for the rest of her life. It would be over soon…

"C'mon, pick her up," said Bean in a tone that assumed obedience. "Gimme."

"Aw, shite…" growled O'Toole. "I do all the work an' _he_ gets the payoff?"

"Let me put it this way, shrimp," said the diplomat. "You're a volunteer, and not a real reliable one at that. This guy got _recruited_, by Red Mountain and Red Gourd, no less. He gets what he wants, and if he wants her, he gets her."

The men roughly hauled Rally to her feet and pulled her towards Bean. He caught her with his left arm and twisted her left hand up behind her just hard enough to keep her immobile, then pressed her to his side. She would not look at his face, didn't want to see it again as long as she lived, but wondered idly what its expression was now.

"I like a man that knows the rules." Bean shifted his grip on the CZ75 and cocked it with one thumb. "What do ya call it, when she gets her own gun back at her? Ironic, like?" Several men laughed and O'Toole loudly objected again.

"Shite! Ye ain't goin' to just shoot her? Before we get to—"

"Oh, this lady'll stay nice 'n' warm for longer than ya'd think," said Bean with a edge of vile humor. Rally thought about seizing her gun, shooting Bean in the face at point blank range, running…where? Eight Uzis and Tek-9s would spray in her direction, instantly. She might take a few of the Dragons with her, not the least Bean, and possibly O'Toole, and that was infinitely the best way to go.

Trying not to tense her muscles in anticipation, Rally looked at Bean to gauge the right moment. He gazed directly into her eyes with a smile, bent down almost caressingly with upstanding hair shadowing his face, pressed the gun to her right temple. "Say goodbye, babe." It was now, or never—

"Long a start as I can give ya," rapidly whispered Bean through motionless lips, releasing her left arm, and the CZ75 dropped into her right hand.

For a moment or two, the Dragons did not seem to grasp what had happened, and for half a moment, neither did Rally. With the familiar sharp trigger touch on her finger she instinctively understood, and swept the CZ75 around and in an arc, firing. KRAK KRAK KRAK KRAK KRAK spoke the gun and five weapons hit the floor, spinning out of the Dragons's bleeding hands with nine-millimeter holes in receivers and clips.

Straight for the motorcycles she ran, remembering the Night Train with the keys in the ignition. Rally leaped aboard the Harley and started the engine with a kick and a roar that reverberated through the entire garage.

BRRAAAAPP! The Dragons began to fire, but as she accelerated out from behind the Expedition she could see that those who still had submachine guns were firing them at Bean. O'Toole, however, ran right at her and headed her off. He lunged and got hold of the right handlebar, throwing his weight on it in an attempt to make her dump the bike.

Rally lashed her right foot out and aimed for his stomach, but hit only his hip. She skidded to a stop at the base of the ramp leading up to the street with the little bodyguard still hanging onto the motorcycle. A heavy louvered door barricaded the top of the ramp. She hadn't heard it rise nor heard Bean drive into the garage; he must have parked outside and walked in as she had, so neither Buff nor another car was at hand. He'd have to stay behind, one way or another…

O'Toole wrestled with her, trying to grab her gun and draw his .45 at the same time. Rally hooked the barrel of the CZ75 into the wire brace on his jaw. And yanked.

"OOOOOAAAAGGHHHH!" howled O'Toole, dropping to his knees with both hands to his face. Behind him as she revved the bike again she saw Bean fighting the Dragons like a pit bull, throwing one into another and warding them off with a bowie knife.

BBRRAAAAPP! BBRRAAAAPP! The jacket he wore had been new, but it too lost chunks of leather and Kevlar with each burst of automatic fire. Only three guns remained in commission, and they quickly ran through their thirty-round clips against his near-impervious armor. One Dragon threw down his empty Uzi and drew an automatic; Bean kicked it out of his hand and punched him so hard he flew into a support column.

A line of men poured from the stairwell and into the garage, all armed and shooting. Rally gunned the Harley up the ramp and the door began to rise. She had to crouch and take a dangerously leaning low-speed turn upslope to avoid hitting the lower edge, but she made it through and out into bright sunlight.

A hard left, aiming for Columbus Avenue a few blocks north. Someone on foot behind her, drawing nearer with a heavy sound of boots on pavement—it must be O'Toole again, the fleet little bastard, and Rally twisted around to aim her CZ75 at the pursuer.

Bean, running as hard as he could. He gave her a lopsided grin, drew alongside before she got up too much speed and motioned her to slide back in the seat. Rally let Bean grab the handlebars in front of her grip. Shifting with her left foot still on the clutch, she scooted far back to give him room and let go.

Bean leaped and landed a little off center in the saddle. Rally seized him around the waist just in time to avoid flinging herself off the tail of the motorcycle. The tires gave out a protesting squeak and the bike skidded sideways at the sudden impact of Bean's weight. Cranking the handgrips as hard as they would turn and straightening his posture, he raced the Harley's engine and took off as if from a standing start with a slight wheelie.

The acceleration yanked Rally backwards as she sought and found the passenger foot pegs. She held tightly to Bean while their speed still increased. Pistols cracked at them but broke off quickly, and the sound of pursuit cars came up behind them.

It was impossible to let go her hold in order to shoot, her gun pressed into Bean's stomach along with her clasped hands, so for the moment Rally simply hung on and watched. Three cars, a Mercedes S500 and two BMWs, roared a menacing chorus in the rear and one motorcycle followed farther behind, a purple Kawasaki Ninja. Bean took the left turn onto Columbus, heading northwest, leaning so far over with Rally that their left knees nearly kissed the pavement. The cars followed, a BMW 750iL taking the lead. Bean rolled the Harley upright, Rally matching her center of gravity to his, and accelerated again.

At about a hundred and ten miles an hour, smoothly swerving through thickening traffic, Bean held their speed and glanced over his shoulder. The 750iL was keeping up, the S500 held the rear, and a top-down Z3 roadster moved up, a burly Dragon at the wheel. The Kawasaki took the left and gained on the cars.

"Go for it. Tell ya when I'm gonna kick it," Bean said over the wind.

Rally released her hands from their grip on each other. Keeping her left arm around Bean's waist, she turned to face as far backwards as she could, the side of her face pressed against his jacket and his muscular back beneath. Warmth, maybe sunlight on black leather, or maybe from within...

She took a fix on the right front tire of the 750iL, but the driver noticed and took evasive measures. He fell back and the Z3 took over the lead, roaring up to within ten yards. The driver snarled at her, raising an Uzi.

BRAAAP! He let off a burst that spattered the pavement near the bike and Rally snapped a shot at his right front tire. KRAK! The tire blew into flapping shreds and the roadster skidded broadside, tires streaming white smoke. The driver steered off the road and over the sidewalk, hitting a fire hydrant. FWOOSH! Water shot twenty feet into the air. The S500 and the 750iL slowed to drive through the geyser and continued the chase through North Beach, losing position. The Kawasaki steered around the growing lake.

"Nice," said Bean. "Left turn!" Rally locked her hands around his waist again and held on as he took a curving left onto Bay Street, heading due west into the sun. Past Fort Mason and a sharp right onto Marina Boulevard. On this bright, hot summer Friday afternoon, hundreds of people thronged Marina Green and the parking lots around the yacht clubs. They turned their heads at the speeding Harley and yelled at the two big dark cars chasing it.

A thick stream of pedestrians, crossing the road at a green light—Bean swerved right and over the curb to avoid the crowd, hitting the grass and plowing a furrow. He steered around sunbathers and kite flyers and back over the curb to the road, nearly knocking down a pair of rollerbladers who flipped him off and cursed. The Dragons slowed and took a left off the busy main drag into a less-populated residential street. The Kawasaki raced to catch up.

"They're going to speed up and cut us off in front!" Rally shouted. Bean glanced left and hit the brakes a block and a half farther west. He made a screeching U-turn with one boot as a pivot and raced down a street to the south, lined with parked cars and tidy white row houses and apartments.

"Hang on!" He accelerated so hard Rally felt as if a giant's hand had seized her from behind. From the left the Dragons approached, heading straight towards the intersection they were about to cross. Rally calculated the converging trajectories. Looking around Bean's body to the left, she braced her CZ75 on his right forearm.

The 750iL still led the way, a pair of passengers firing automatics out the windows at the Harley, and she drilled both tires on the right side with two shots. The big BMW skidded right as the tires blew, spinning directly towards them.

Bean jumped the right hand curb to avoid colliding with it and jolted through a rutted vacant lot on the corner, using his foot to guide the turn. The disabled 750iL came to rest against the curb, and the S500 barreled through the intersection and took a hard right to aim at the Harley in the vacant lot. A twelve-gauge poked out the passenger window and fired.

BOOOM! Three men jumped out of the 750iL behind Bean and Rally, firing. They were pinned between the two cars! Buckshot broke the Harley's headlight and hit Bean's legs. Bloodstains spread on his jeans.

THUNK! Rally felt Bean grunt as a .45 slug smacked into his left shoulder right in front of her face. But the Kevlar and chain mail held. Another slug tore her jacket under her raised right arm. SPANNG! A third slug hit the Harley's gas tank, right in front of Bean's thigh. Gasoline spurted, streaming backwards when Bean gunned the bike across the vacant lot. He jumped it off a slight rise of ground and landed square on the hood of the S500.

Metal buckled and crumpled, the Mercedes's windshield shattering, and Rally and Bean sailed over the roof, airborne for a couple of seconds. Gas sprayed all over the S500 and the surrounding road. The Harley hit the ground with a bouncing jolt and took off south and uphill.

"That's a hundred grand of damage on the Dragons so far," said Bean with grim satisfaction. As soon as she could release her hold on him, Rally aimed behind her and fired a low shot calculated to graze the S500's body. It sent up a line of sparks into the gasoline, which flashed into fire.

Dragons ran and yelled, getting out of the S500 and tumbling on the bare dirt of the vacant lot to avoid the flames. The shotgun fired again and again without effect at long range.

"OK, hundred and fifty grand," calculated Bean. Rally ripped a big piece of fabric from her torn jacket and passed it forward into Bean's hand. He stuffed one end of the scrap into the hole in the gas tank and kept jamming folds in with a fingertip until it stayed where it was and stopped the leak. The stink of gas rose all around them, quickly evaporating in the rushing wind.

Behind them still came one pursuer: the Kawasaki, which had not arrived at the scene until the Mercedes had gone up in flames. The rider wore no helmet and Rally glimpsed his rusty hair and furious nicotine-stained grin.

O'Toole raised his .45 and shot again and again, blasting holes in the pavement right beside them as Bean swerved from side to side. She might try to hit O'Toole in the knee, or the shoulder, which would probably force him to brake and stop. KRAK! Square into his right shoulder went the nine-millimeter, but O'Toole didn't even flinch. He kept the gun raised and fired again, barely missing them.

Rally returned the compliment. KRAK! The Harley hit a small ridge in the pavement and jolted enough to deflect her aim to the side—she hit the Kawasaki's gas tank instead of O'Toole's left kneecap. Gas sprayed and streamed over O'Toole and the bike, soaking his clothes. Despite the fire risk, he shot at them again and emptied his magazine. He popped it and lost it, but steered with his knees for a moment to retrieve another from his pants pocket and slam it in, falling behind the Harley. Pulling back the slide, he grinned and aimed again.

Rally grimaced. Both motorcycles were doing well over a hundred miles an hour and none of the riders had helmets. If she shot out O'Toole's front tire, he might very well die in the crash.

'_But I'll have me fun, won't I?'_ The zip of a pair of nylon pants, heavy weights on the backs of her knees. Something clicked into place, or broke asunder, in Rally's mind. From half a block away she aimed directly at O'Toole's left eye, her lips snarling back from her teeth.

In her darkening vision, this was far beyond rules, far beyond human consideration. He deserved no consideration, Rally told herself, and let that conviction show in her face: an expression so unfamiliar it hurt. The little man's yellow eyes widened, grin fading.

"Slow down!" she ordered Bean, and he eased off. O'Toole moved forward relative to them and Rally fired. Alert, he ducked at the last moment and the bullet only parted his hair. Fury choked her and she snapped off two more shots, striking sparks across handlebars and engine.

His pants caught, the gas flaring up, and on his face panic took hold as fast as the flames. A line of fire followed the stream of gas to the hole in the Kawasaki's tank and O'Toole frantically braked, preparing to bail out. One last shot, into his front tire.

BOOOM!

Tire and tank both blew in a spectacular explosion that rocked the Harley's rear wheel off the ground. The Kawasaki tumbled end over end into the air in a bursting fireball; O'Toole hit the road in a blazing heap and rolled over, unconscious or dead.

"Shee-it." Bean looked over his shoulder and wrestled the Harley back into a straight-line course. After a pause: "You got one left, or two?"

"Two." Black smoke followed them uphill.

"Extra mag was in the holster, huh? Sorry; couldn't get ya the whole thing." She had no desire to discuss this, or indeed anything, with him right now, so she didn't reply.

Sirens pursued them. Bean accelerated again and blasted up Divisadero. "I'll aim for the park. Easy to lose 'em there, and they'll stop to see to O'Toole." He seemed to expect an answer, but she didn't give one. "You mean to do that? Blow the tank? Set him on _fire?"_

"Yes."

"Shee-it." He shook his head slightly.

"You JUDGING me, Bean Bandit?" said Rally in a deadly tone.

"Hey, lady, you got the right to do anything you want to that little shit. He had it coming. Just…never saw _you_ do somethin' like that before."

"Get used to it, Bean!" she hissed. He was silent.

The sirens never came closer, but Bean cranked the gas and whipped through several busy intersections, dodging traffic and pedestrians. Rally felt like a dark angel of death, riding shotgun with a horseman of the apocalypse: a machine for killing.

This was wrong. What she had just done was wrong, not in the sense that O'Toole hadn't deserved it, but in the sense that no human being could pass such judgment on another. The little psychopath had done things like that to other human beings all his life, but it still wasn't right for her deliberately to do it to him. Bean hadn't made quite that point; he didn't judge her, but he had nevertheless hit the mark—Rally had never done anything like that before, no matter how excellent the provocation, and this was an injury she had done to herself.

Again she felt a wave of fierce resentment against him for stating the truth. Around his body, her arms clenched and her fingers tightened on her CZ75. Enforced closeness and Bean's familiar scent intruded on her senses, bringing up vivid associated memories, and Rally's anger grew poisonous. How dare he imply she was going around the bend! He'd called her a whore, he'd called her a murderer! He'd said he ought to kill her…and he had tried to do it! He had meant to cut her face! He had held a knife to May's pregnant stomach! He had _wrecked_ the _Cobra!_ All for a damnable suitcase full of cash!

"Right turn," he said at Fell Street, and took them through it and parallel to the grassy Panhandle, passing the Department of Motor Vehicles building on their left. "This thing's kinda low on gas." Rally shook with fury and said nothing. Sirens came up behind them and Bean entered the park and passed the conservatory at high speed. "Got about five minutes of juice left, but no prob."

He glanced to left and right and went up over a curb between parked cars and onto an asphalt path that followed the road. A small dirt road cut through the tall shrubbery and he swerved to take it. Down an embankment shaded with big eucalyptuses, slipping on the fallen leaves and bark strips; they landed on another asphalt path perpendicular to the road and turned to follow it. The sirens passed on the road above and Bean rode slowly along the narrow path to a dark grove of trees.

He went off the pavement again and maneuvered the Harley to a stop at a spot concealed from the path. Rally immediately let go of him. Bean planted both feet on the ground, his knees slightly bent, and let out a breath, easing his jacket zipper down.

"OK, lost 'em for now. I can siphon some gas out've a car and get us tanked up in a couple minutes. You want to go anywhere in particular? I gotta get my 'Vette sometime, but no big—"

Instead of replying, Rally slid off the motorcycle. She had no holster to hold the CZ75, so she shrugged down her shredded jacket with the idea of rolling it around the gun and started to walk away with no intention of looking back.

While she was in mid-motion with arms still in the jacket, the Harley's engine puttering, Bean reached for her. He pulled her halfway across the saddle in front of him, her face turned upwards, and bent down. What was he doing?

Flabbergasted, eyes wide open, Rally felt Bean's mouth crush against hers, his tongue pushing between her lips. He was kissing her! She shoved back and broke free, lurching out of his arms and nearly falling. When he grabbed her shoulders and tried to draw her to him again, she slapped him across the face so hard his head snapped to the side. Before she had to look into Bean's eyes, Rally turned and ran.

"Hey! Sorry! Ya looked—" She kept running. "Vincent! Stop! Dammit, woman, you're coming with ME!"

"Says you!" she flung over her shoulder, jamming her gun into the waistband of her skirt. "Get away from me, you BASTARD!"

"Vincent!" The Harley roared again and Bean followed her all the way through the small grove and into an unpaved service road piled with tree branches and dumpsters. She almost evaded him among the dumpsters as he struggled to roll over logs and cardboard boxes. The motor started to cough, but the road opened out and the motorcycle overtook her. Bean wheeled across her path and turned broadside in a skid-turn to block her. "C'mon, all I want to do is—"

Rally drew, her CZ75 aimed directly between his eyes. "Cut an X on my face, huh? Get away from me, Bean! I WILL shoot you if you keep following me, or if you get any closer! You understand me, you knife-wielding THUG!"

Bean looked at her very strangely: brows down and almost scowling, nose wrinkled up, but his mouth open in a tense downward curve that had a sense of pain to it. His chest heaved in a rhythm more rapid than out-of-breath hyperventilation. "I ain't gonna hurt you, Vincent. I didn't come back here to do that. I just did what I came back here to do, OK? I'll beat it if you say, but lemme talk to you, huh?"

Bean put the kickstand down and dismounted from the Harley, throwing one long leg over the seat and standing up facing her with his hands raised to shoulder level. Blood mottled his jeans where the Dragon's buckshot had hit.

"No! I don't want to hear anything you've got to say! You have NO right to TOUCH me! Get AWAY from me!"

"I know you didn't steal that money! I found out you didn't. I was wrong, Vincent—Rally." His teeth came together in a grimace. "For crying out loud, will you listen to me?"

"Tell me something I don't know, huh? Of course I didn't steal that money, you son of a bitch! Realized it a little late, didn't you?"

"Too late?" Bean looked incredulous. "What do you mean? Seems to me like I got there just in—"

"What do I MEAN! What did YOU mean by IMMEDIATELY assuming I was worse than BROWN? Huh? I thought you TRUSTED me! I even thought you might be in—" Rally took a deep sobbing breath— "That you LIKED me or something! I asked you to have _sex_ with me and no matter how many jollies you got out of it, all you could really believe was that I had planned to rob you and play you for a stooge!" Her voice roughened; she fought tears and wiped the back of her hand over her nose. "You piece of _shit_. I thought you were a FRIEND OF MINE!"

"I was wrong! I figured out someone looked in the trunk and saw—"

"Oh, you had some kind of brilliant epiphany and decided to do the 'knight on a white charger' shtick!" Rally kicked the black Harley. "You thought that would make it ALL RIGHT AGAIN!"

"The Dragons think you took a whole mil from Brown! I thought you'd need some—"

"What was it you said? About a couple of bitchy remarks of mine? 'If you don't know I'm not that kind of scumbag by now, the hell with you'? WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU KNOW THAT ABOUT ME, BEAN!"

"I…I…" Bean looked at the ground, face working.

A long pause, broken only by their ragged breaths. Rally's head pounded, her tightened throat burning. The look on Bean's face combined consciousness of guilt with a frustrated sense of entitlement; did he even grasp the real meaning of his crime? Apparently he expected an instant reward for coming to her rescue! Rally flushed, palpitating with anger. She turned away from him, a hand over her still-tingling lips.

"Vincent…" She shot him a fierce glare over her shoulder. "I…I'm sorry, OK?" Bean turned out his palms. "I bugged out on my partner and it's my fault the Dragons got you cornered."

"Oh, no SHIT?"

"But I came back, b-baby. I came back to…to…" He couldn't force it out, whatever it was; his lips contorted around unpronounceable words. Heated, possessive emotion flared in his eyes, but mixed with deep unease.

"To claim your just compensation? Saving my ass gets you a piece of it in return?"

Bean flinched; she'd hit some sort of mark. He swallowed hard. Then his big jaw set and the frustration took dominance. He swiped at the buckshot wounds on one thigh and displayed his bloody hand. "You gonna tell me this don't count for anything?"

Finally having gained a little control, Rally spoke in a low and cutting voice. "OK, 'Black Knight'. I get the point. You just helped me escape from getting raped and beaten to death. Fine. That's good. But what if you hadn't had this amazing realization? What would you be DOING right now? Getting up off my battered body and saying, 'Thanks for your patience, gentlemen. Plenty left to go around?'"

Bean went white and wide-eyed, teeth coming together again. "No. No! Even if I hadn't known—"

"OK, maybe not. If you didn't hurt me over that cash then and there, maybe not." She put a hand over her face and briefly closed her eyes. "You did save my life, and I will say thank you. _Thank you for saving my life, Bean."_ Rally lowered her hand and gave Bean a hard stare. "But if you think that's going to make me just up and _forgive_ you for what you've done in the last sixty hours, you have another think coming. A very, very long one, because for the rest of my life, I am going to remember what you said to me five minutes after you'd gotten your filthy rocks off in my virgin body. You are a _scumbag_, mister, and don't you ever forget it."

She'd hurt him; she could tell. His eyes went unfocused, his mouth curved downwards again and he took a few gasping breaths. "Rally…"

"Don't call me that. You haven't got the right. You are not a friend of mine." She turned and walked away. Bean didn't follow. When Rally turned for one quick glance before she rounded the curve of the road, she saw him leaning on the motorcycle, hunched over and staring at the ground, face frozen in something she didn't care to analyze. But she saw his shoulders give one great heave.

* * *

"'Nother bedroom?" said Tiffany Brown as Manichetti carried her up the back steps of a hotel in Burlingame, her little arms around his thick neck.

"Yep," he replied, putting her down just inside the door of a suite as her mother opened it and stepped aside to let them pass. "'Nother bedroom."

"I wanna stay in one place, Manny," said Tiffany, examining the room with a disdainful eye. "Why do we got to move again? Why did we have to leave all my toys except Baby Bear?" She held up her stuffed teddy and showed it the room. "Baby Bear doesn't like this place."

"'Cause the bad men are chasing us, Miss Tiffany. Your mama told you."

"Oh. Is it like hide-and-seek?"

"Yeah, hide-and-seek." Manichetti smiled as the child ran off to look into the next room. "You want to go potty? It's in there." Tiffany went into the bathroom, closing the door. "Ma'am, you OK? I'll fetch something to eat soon as I check the security. She still shouldn't go out've the room."

"I'm all right, considering," replied Sarah Brown. She sat down in an upholstered chair. "No luggage, no jewels. I don't even have a change of panties..."

"Uh…" Manichetti turned red and coughed awkwardly.

"Sorry, Manny," she said absently. "Tiffy doesn't mind wearing the same dress day after day. She thinks it's an adventure. I should try to reach that state of consciousness…"

"Yeah, whatever works. Um, there's just one bedroom, so you and the kid sleep in there. I'll sack out on the couch."

"Mmm." Sarah looked up at him with a smile. "Or she could sleep on the couch, which would be more comfortable for her anyway than hearing Mama snore, and you and I could share the bedroom."

"God, Sarah…" muttered Manichetti. "You know it ain't a good idea, with her and us in one little place. It wasn't really safe even in that big house when that husband of yours was out've the country. We can't be doing this now."

"She will have to know sooner or later. I know, I'd prefer later. I still haven't figured out how to tell her that Sly's dead. But, Manny…" She stood up and moved into his embrace, resting her shining blonde head on his chest. "I need you. You and she are all I have now."

Manichetti's arms went around her and he rocked her slightly back and forth, stroking her hair. "Sweetheart. Baby. I love you, and you are so damn beautiful you make my teeth hurt. Don't you think I've been wantin' to stay in your bed, sweetheart? I know Tom's gone and good riddance, so there's no prob that way. But if that kid starts to think…"

"She's only four, Manny. And that's another thing she is going to have to know one of these days."

"How am I going to tell her that? She loved that husband of yours."

"I don't know." Sarah nuzzled Manichetti's chest through his shirt and raised her face. Their lips met. Tiffany left the bathroom and ran over to the couple, grabbing Manichetti by the leg.

"Are you getting a hug, Mama? I want a hug too!"

"I got enough hugs for everybody," said Manichetti.

* * *

"Agent Smith in?" asked Rally at the FBI reception desk in the Federal Building. "I've got a lot to tell him…" She had walked blocks from Golden Gate Park to her hotel, slowly cooling down and breathing out her adrenaline with imagined conversations and arguments, most of them with Bean, but some of them with Agent Wesson.

Finding May out, she had showered and changed before taking a cab. Rally felt almost calm in spite of having escaped the Dragons by the skin of her teeth; still a bit shaky, but with a deep weariness of mind and body that gave her surroundings a dreamy quality. "I couldn't get hold of him on the phone and this is pretty important."

"I'm not sure if he and his team are back from the hospital yet," replied the receptionist.

"Hospital?" Had they all gone en masse to talk to Larry Sam? "Why did they go to the hospital?"

"Because that's where they have all those doctors and nurses," said Smith, limping out of the lobby elevator. The rest of the agents involved in the Brown case followed him, slowly. "All those people who can give you Band-Aids and aspirin—ow—and casts."

"What the hell happened to you guys?" said Rally, staring at Smith, Wesson, Gonzales and Bui. "You get run over by a truck?" Smith wore a sling on one arm and had a large blue lump on his forehead. Wesson had a stitched slash across one cheek and a black eye that resembled a patch, which made him look comically piratical. Gonzales was limping on one crutch, Bui on two, and their faces were swollen and bruised. "Geez." Roy Coleman, last out of the elevator, looked shaken, but seemed unhurt. "Roy? Anyone going to tell me?"

"Bean," said Wesson in a whisper. "It was Bean." He sat down heavily in a lobby chair and grimaced, rubbing his hindquarters. "Ow."

"Bean? I was going to tell you—he came back."

"We noticed," said Gonzales, easing himself into a seat. "We all met him about an hour ago. He introduced himself, we tried to arrest him, and then he kicked our butts. With extreme prejudice."

"What? But I saw him about an hour ago! He busted in when O'Toole and the Dragons had me pinned. He got me my gun and saved my life—Roy?" Rally put a hand on his arm. "You look terrible. Are you hurt?"

"No," said Roy, turning away with a heartrending expression.

"He told him," said Smith, unhelpfully. "Boy, did he tell him."

"Who told who what? You are not making sense."

"I can't," said Roy almost inaudibly. "You tell her; I can't."

"Bean," said Bui. "Man, he is a powerhouse. I'm lucky it's only sprained." He rubbed one knee, then the other. "Four armed FBI agents…and a Chicago cop…and he buttered our bread like it was nothing." Everyone who had sat down got up again, moaning and hobbled down the corridor to Smith's office, Rally trailing them.

"Bean told somebody something? Can we fill in the blanks here?"

"Miss Rally," said Smith, pulling out his desk chair, "Bean told Detective Coleman that he had had consensual sex with you. In—some detail. We knew that already, but Coleman didn't. Per your request, we hadn't told him. He doesn't feel too good about it, because he had accused Bean of raping you—the way we thought at first that he might have attacked you, over the money. Coleman was about to shoot him for it—"

"No, I wasn't," muttered Roy. He sat down and put his head on his knees. "I think I'm going to be sick…"

"Good God, Roy. You thought Bean raped me and you wanted to shoot him?"

"I didn't shoot anyone!"

"My God—you've been thinking that all this time? Oh! Did May say something—?"

"Yes." Roy looked at the floor. "The two of us worked up a nice little scenario. Convinced ourselves without a hell of a lot of trouble. So we've been beating ourselves over the head with it since yesterday." He took a deep breath. "In a way, it's a relief. No, of course it's a relief—I'm so goddamn glad that didn't happen to you!"

"When we drove up, Bean had Coleman hoisted up in the air and was threatening to throw him over a cliff and into the ocean," put in Wesson.

"What? When did this happen?" Rally turned around and around, trying to take in everyone's contributions. "I thought you all were trailing Roy in my car!"

"It happened on the decoy, yeah. The Dragons didn't follow your car, but Bean did," said Smith. "Coleman had the radio open—-we heard both sides of the conversation before we arrived at the scene. Bean wanted to know where you were…so he could go help you." He fumbled for a cigarette and lighter. "Guess he meant what he said."

"But Roy didn't know where I was, not exactly."

"Nope," said Smith musingly, letting out a stream of smoke. "Obviously Bean found out some other way."

"I know how," said Rally. "He called the Dragons and asked."

"They TOLD him?"

"Sure. He must have agreed to join the Triad. He walked straight into their HQ without being challenged and started ordering them around while they had me captured and disarmed. It sounded like he'd called in and they'd invited him to come play. I guess they figured participating in the gang-rape and murder of his former partner would be a nice initiation ritual."

Roy let out a dreadful sobbing sound, then choked it off. "No…"

"Roy, I'm OK." Rally knelt down and tried to look him in the face, putting her arm over his hunched back. "I'm fine. I have nothing but skinned knees and a bruised cheekbone. You can thank Bean for that, no matter what his motives were for coming back. He saved my life. I'm here, and I'm not hurt." Roy's arms went around her and he cried for a moment on her shoulder, then sat up and wiped his nose, his eyes red.

"Sorry. Sorry…"

"You do not have to apologize for that." Rally felt grateful tears starting in her own eyes. "Roy, you are a great guy. You've got a heart as big as Lake Superior, and I don't mind you worrying about me at all. Your wife is going to be so proud of you. I know it, friend. We are going to get those scumbags, and we're going to do it together."

Roy embraced her again, pounding her back, and let out a teary whoop. "Damn! What a trooper!"

Smith nodded, smiling. "Thattagirl, Miss Rally. Never let 'em see you sweat. Now, where's that Bu-car?" Rally gave him a complete rundown on her afternoon, leaving nothing out, except the fact that Bean had kissed her the first moment he could. "Search warrant on the double," said Smith, grinning. "108 Redwood? Should have been obvious, with that address! We'll settle their hash." He picked up his phone. "Get me the judge on duty."

"Tell them to check the basement vault first. Probably that's where all the explosives are!"

"Yeah—guess I'm not going to get to do this in person." Smith looked at his sling. "Sprained elbow, because Bean disarmed me with one hand. And he clouted me over the head with my own goddamn carbine! I feel like a goddamn rookie. I want to go home and eat a Lean Cusine with Advil on the side and go to bed."

Rally felt a laugh emerging and tamped it down, glancing around at all the damaged FBI agents. "Bean seems to have not wanted to injure you too badly."

"What?" said Wesson "He could have killed us, Ms. Vincent! Are you sure he saved your life? That could have been a smokescreen. As a matter of fact, I think it's likely he's trying to influence your opinion of his actions—"

Rally rolled her eyes. "I was there, Agent Wesson. You were not. Of course he's trying to influence my opinion of him—he discovered I hadn't tried to cheat him, he came back when he heard I was in danger, and he risked his life to help me." She paused. "I think I'm defending him again, and I don't know why, because when I left him, I had said the worst things that I could think of to him. Yes, he could have killed all of you, because I saw him waste at least a couple of the Dragons in that parking garage, and there were eight of them with full-autos who weren't interested in taking him alive. If he left you guys relatively intact, I suppose it must have been because he thought _I_ wouldn't approve of his chopping you all into corned beef hash."

"This is going to leave a mark," complained Wesson, gesturing indignantly at his facial slash. "He used excessive force!"

"One versus five, knife versus guns. Uh-huh." said Rally with a touch of sarcasm. "Don't worry about the slash, Agent. The girls will swoon if you tell 'em it's a duelling scar." Wesson stood up, looking as if he were about to retort, but suddenly left Smith's office.

"Bob?" said Smith, watching him go. "Huh. What's up his ass? Well, I think we all ought to call it a day…I'll file all the temporary disability forms, guys, so take a cab and go on home." Bui and Gonzales nodded and filed out, limping on their crutches.

"No kidding. I want to go home too. Oh, but I have some other things to tell you. About Brown, and about..." She looked significantly at Roy, who seemed confused. "Though I think Brown is most important right now. You haven't seen the ballistics report yet, have you, Pete?"

"Nope, no report yet. What about Brown?" sighed Smith, putting down his phone.

"I think he's alive. In fact, I'm almost positive of it." Smith and Roy looked at each other in shock.

"Huh?" said Roy. "But you told us—"

"Yes, I know. But there is no body. Right?"

"So far," said Smith, paying attention.

"And Bean and I saw O'Toole on the secondary pier, right before Brown started calling out. He escaped from the warehouse somehow, and I KNOW he wouldn't have left Brown where the fire could get to him. May thinks that O'Toole could have blown an escape hatch in the floor."

Smith's phone rang, and he stood up and got it. "Smith. Yeah, she's here." He passed the phone to Rally.

"Hi, Ral! Guess where I am!"

"Don't know, May. Riding on the back of O'Toole's Harley with Bean driving?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I found the Dragon HQ, and they kind of noticed, and O'Toole brought all his best buddies to sing along at my funeral, and then Bean showed up out of nowhere and we kind of made a big mess in North Beach, the Marina and Cow Hollow, this time, and he kind of saved my life, and he thought that kind of made up for everything bad he'd ever done to me and my best friends, and was disappointed to find out I kind of didn't think so. So where are you?"

"Oh, girl! You're joking, right?"

"Not even exaggerating."

"What?"

"You tell me your news first."

"Uh…OK. Well, since you were going to be gone doing, uh, boring stuff all afternoon, I took a cab over to the Dragon pier and introduced myself to the forensic team there. They let me look around, and I suggested checking under the pier because of this neat-o theory my partner and I came up with. So they got a guy in a kayak to see if I was nuts or not. The pilings are so close together that you can only get a smallish boat in among them—maybe a fair-size motorboat, but not a big cabin cruiser. The guy said he spotted something with the halogen lantern out in the middle of the end section. Like a man-sized hole, but there were big beams running right under it and it wasn't easy to tell without getting right up there. They calculated the location and dug the debris away inside, and lo and behold, a man-sized hole right through the concrete! They aren't sure if it was there before the fire or not, but they're testing for explosives residue."

"Perfect!" Rally repeated May's findings to Smith and Roy. "Thank you, honey. You are such a boost to my credibility! I'm taking you out to dinner to celebrate!"

"We have to go out to dinner anyway. We're on vacation."

"Uhh…so it's a _special_ routine dinner out! Pick the joint and I'll drive."

"I'll go pick May up from the pier and bring her to the Federal Building to meet you," said Roy. "I…think I have something to tell her. To get a weight off her mind. Your Cobra's in the garage here." He sighed and left.

"You like my theory, Pete?" Rally put her wrapped CZ75 under her arm again. "I'll go hang out in the break room until May gets here."

"Damn. I have to admit, it makes a lot of sense."

"So if Brown's alive, where is he?"

Smith looked thoughtful. "There are a lot of places he could have holed up, just in California. It's been days—he could be anywhere in the world by now. This ruse of his didn't have to last forever—only long enough for him to get away, and I guess we'd have taken at least a couple of weeks to get as far as you and your partner just did."

"Sounds like it's time to start making inquiries."

"Yeah. He's had a start on us, but he can't just vanish." Smith sat down again with a tired sigh. "I'll start calling."

"Sorry to inflict work on you when you've just met Bean Bandit for the first time!"

"Miss Rally, he surely does care what happens to you," said Smith, dialing. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he…well." He gave her a smile, steel-blue eyes crinkling. "I don't think he's going to leave the area again while you're here and going up against the Eight Dragon Triad. If I ever wanted to know what Bean Bandit was doing, I believe all I'd really have to do is check if Miss Rally Vincent's in trouble. Now that's a man you're lucky to have on your side of the table."

"Uh, well…maybe…"

"I'd not be so quick to condemn his motives, Miss Rally. Not that you are going to have to make any effort to keep him where he is. He's staying, and I believe it's for good this time."

Rally paused at the door, not sure she had heard correctly. "What? You don't mean you think—"

"I'd like to have a more leisurely conversation with that guy some day," said Smith. "Ask him a few tough questions, man to man. No bullshit. Like, 'When in the name of hell are you going to tell her?'" He chuckled and waved her out the door.

* * *

"May—would you like to go for a drive for a while before we eat? I think there's something I need to tell you…" Rally pulled her Cobra out of the Federal Building's garage and turned right.

"Rally…Roy said something…about Bean. And you." May's eyes were huge and worried. "I didn't really understand what he meant, and he left right away for the hotel, to call his wife, and wouldn't talk about it. Bean saved your life? He came back to San Francisco to do that?"

"Yes. Weird, huh?" She stopped at a red light.

"Um…and he said something else happened. That Bean _didn't_ rape you, but he…um, had sex with you. On the night of the fire." May looked deeply distressed. "Was that right, sweetie? Did I hear that right?"

"Yes, May. I had sex with him." Rally dropped her head to the steering wheel. "We did it in the car after I took him out of the hotel garage. Your sense of smell is vindicated."

"You...had SEX with him?" May's voice was a shrieking whisper. "With BEAN BANDIT? You lost your virginity with HIM!"

"I had to do it with SOMEONE, didn't I?" The light turned green and she moved.

"Yeah, but—oh God, he didn't rape you? Please, if he—"

"No, nothing like that. I asked him to have sex with me and he didn't really want to at first. Heck, I might have raped HIM..."

"Wow! That musta took some doing! What, did you hold a gun to his head?"

"Hell, no! I...I begged him to help me. I was...I was in a horrible state, imagining Brown dying in that fire..."

"Oh, honey!"

"I felt like my skin was scorching right off me and I had to feel something else or _die_. I was crying and grabbing him, and finally he let me do it. It took him a while but then he got warmed up and he ended up screwing my brains out in the front seat."

"God." May's mouth hung open; she looked wide-eyed at the Cobra's seats. "He really got into doing it with you, huh? Not like that's totally unbelievable, gorgeous, but…wow. I never got the idea Bean was all that _interested_ in sex, or in women as women. He's mostly devoted to his cars, I thought, but I don't know."

"I don't know either. I think...he got pretty carried away. He said he'd been thinking about it too much—he meant thinking about doing it with me, because... um…we had almost had sex earlier, the first night we were together, in Buttonkettle. I… teased him, for some reason, and he took me up on it." Rally was starting to shake, so she pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

"_Teased_ him? _Bean?"_

"I took some clothes off when he was watching. I was trying to bug him, or something. He…he reacted kind of strongly, and then I got caught up in it…"

"Oh, _Rally_…" May's expression filled with incredulous reproof. "You should NEVER have left me behind in L.A.!"

"We got nearly all the way. He didn't stop until I told him I was a virgin, and then he couldn't get out of there fast enough. But he changed his mind in the car a couple of nights later—boy, did he ever change his mind! After it was over he was kissing me and asking me to sleep with him all night. That scared the crap out of me. I started backing off, he started trying harder, and right then, right THEN he found that money!"

"Girl, I would not have been in your shoes for all the gold in California." May shook her head with deliberation. "Not if HE was getting that sentimental, and got a tremendous kick in the cojones just afterwards!"

"No kidding." Rally's face twitched. "So I found out just how cold he really is. One moment he was talking as if he wanted to propose marriage, and the next moment he called me a whore and said he ought to kill me. He's a reptile. He's got no emotions but lust, greed and anger."

"Oh, but—are you sure about that, Rally? He came back to save you! He must feel—"

"He finally realized he was wrong. Couldn't let the Dragons kill me—but that's just his way of paying the debt! It's got nothing to do with his _feelings_." She raked a hand through her hair and let her head drop.

"But you said he got carried away! Trying hard to keep you with him, huh? I can imagine how he must have felt when he found the suitcase, if he'd just made love to _you!_ He must have been feeling…really happy. Like…his all-time best wet dream coming true, and then—"

"If he did..." Rally leaned her forehead against the driver's window, remembering how cold and distant she had been with Bean right after he had finished, and how warm and affectionate he had been, nevertheless. '_C'mon, gimme a kiss,'_ he had said, smiling, his face still flushed. _'Just can't keep my hands off you, beautiful lady...'_ "If he did, it was just afterglow. And the sight of that suitcase knocked it dead in a fraction of a second. No, he hated me then."

"Do you hate him?"

"I...I don't know. How could he just assume I'd set out to trick him from the beginning? I thought he trusted me, but when he saw that cash he wouldn't listen to a word I said. How could he threaten to kill me not five minutes after he...?"

"You think he felt betrayed?"

"Oh, God, he said something like, 'Did you think you could fool me so bad I'd never ask another question?' He just instantly assumed that I'd had sex with him to put him off his guard. He was so angry...he'd never been angry like that with me before."

May listened with pursed lips. "I think he does care about you."

"What, telling a woman he ought to snap her neck is proof he's got a heart? Maybe it's just ego—he probably thinks he's irresistible, and the idea that a woman might screw him and not be instantly at his feet was too much to take! God, May, he held a knife on _Junior!"_

"And put me down as soon as he remembered the baby. Rally, can I..." May gnawed on a fingernail. "Look, I know Bean too."

"Huh?"

"He does have a heart, OK? Remember how he saved me from Gray?"

"You look like a kid to him. He likes to protect kids. Makes him feel like a big honcho!"

"I know, a man like him seems all macho and stoic," said May carefully. "It's part of his profession. I don't think he's ever had a woman involved in his life, his real life. You're probably the first one he ever met who could match him at his own game."

"He does respect my work." Rally rubbed her lips with her fingertips. "I really don't think he ever went any deeper than that."

"Heh heh heh...interesting choice of words!"

"Aaack!"

"Which brings me to...what was it like, anyway?" May stuck her tongue slightly out of her mouth and waggled her eyebrows.

"Oh, God, May! I don't want to think about it!"

"That bad, huh? I'm sorry, sweetie." May reached over and gently touched Rally's bruised face, taking her hand. "I shouldn't joke. Maybe he didn't force you, but a huge, rough guy like that...and you being a virgin..."

"That part did hurt."

"I hope he hasn't put you off sex forever! Well, OK, I know he didn't do that." May kissed Rally's chin. "But don't put all men in his category just because he was your first. Not every guy's so clumsy that he inflicts bruises and rams it in without any preparation."

"Ohh, geez, it wasn't THAT bad!" Her body and her uncomfortably clear memory were contradicting everything May said. "I...well, I guess I kind of enjoyed it."

"Kind of?"

"Uh...OK, he wasn't as rough as you might think. He, uh, he's got good hands..."

"Did he go down on you? That's what I call the 'clitmus' test!"

Rally blushed fiercely. "Y-yeah, he did."

"Ooo-_hoooh!_ Has he got technique?" May's face lit up and became avid and inquiring.

"May! I wouldn't know!"

"Oh, yes, you do! Did he make you come?"

"Yes..."

"Good! How did you like screwing him?"

Rally flushed again, her thighs clamping tightly together over her throbbing groin and her body moving in a slow writhe. Right here in the Cobra, right where she sat…

"Wow." May smiled at her with raised brows. "Not that BAD, huh?"

"I...I suppose he's actually pretty good at it..." said Rally in a high faint voice. "Fine, OK, so he's fantastic, at least where I'm concerned, and I refuse to think about the implications of that."

"Oookaaay…I think I have the picture now…"

"What?" May only chortled. "What? You think I'm stuck on him? No WAY!"

"Why'd you ask him to have sex with you, then? And why give him a tease in the motel room? I thought HE'D be the one who'd be trying to get something going—but it's been YOU all along!"

"Oh, heck...well, I was all wound up, and curious about him, and then I was all wound up and feeling like hell...and he was there. He always seems to be there. Something inevitable about the way he shows up." Rally sighed. "Thank God he showed up today…"

"I _love_ this!" May clasped her hands together and pressed them to her cheek, beaming and kissing the air. "Mmmwaah! How ROMANTIC! He always comes back to you! What will you do when Bean comes to beg your forgiveness? When he tells you he's crazy about you, proposes on one knee, sweeps you off your feet and drives off into the sunset—"

"Ugh!" wailed Rally. "Barf!"

"Well, of course on the West Coast driving into the sunset takes you straight into the ocean..."

"No kidding. May, you are all wet!"

"Sounds like YOU were the wet one, baby!" May cackled. "So he fucks like a champion and fights like a demon? The PERFECT man for you!"

"WHAT? You've been riding too many rollercoasters! Your _head's_ going up and down! Three minutes ago you were sure he'd mauled me, at the very least! Now you think it's PERFECTLY ROMANTIC!"

"Believe it! If _you_ enjoyed having sex with Bean that much, your first time, HE probably felt the EARTH move, Rally! Gosh, if he wasn't much interested in sex before, I bet he's wild for it now! What did he say to you?"

"Uhh...that he thought I was…good in bed."

"Oh, sure."

"I'm not going to repeat his LANGUAGE! He wanted to take me to a hotel or something and keep going all night. From a guy like him, I guess that's a high compliment!"

"Men express themselves physically. Especially a guy like him! Having sex with someone can be his way of showing, um, love."

"That's hard to distinguish from simple lust! He never said a word about anything else."

"I'd be surprised if he had." May grew a little more serious, looking up at Rally. "I doubt Bean's ever going to be articulate about emotions as long as he lives. He's not made that way, and nothing in his way of life would encourage him to find a remedy. Judge him by what he does, not what he says or doesn't say. Remember, even though he might do a really good imitation of one, he is not a machine. No one is."

"I like machines." Rally reached for her CZ75 and started the car again. "They do what I tell them to do."

* * *

_This ain't no thinkin' thing, right brain, left brain  
It goes a little deeper than that  
It's a chemical, physical, emotional devotion  
Passion that we can't hold back  
There's nothing that we need to analyze  
There ain't no rhyme or reason why_  
'_Cause this ain't, this ain't, no thinkin' thing…_

"I _hate_ country music," muttered Rally, fighting the radio dial past 93.3 FM as she sat in traffic crawling northbound on Nineteenth Avenue past Stern Grove. The cars around her were obscured by fog and light drizzling rain, the wet weather only exacerbating the Saturday morning traffic conditions. "It's too…topical."

Obviously this hadn't been the right route to take even before noon; she felt cornered in the open air. Every Mercedes and BMW she saw out of the corner of her eye gave her a jolt, and the few motorcycles abroad in this weather affected her similarly, though the emotion was uncomfortable in a different way.

"Rats. I'll take one of these side streets and hope for the best…" She inched over to the left and discovered that half the streets were one-way. One and a half blocks and nearly ten minutes later, Rally turned left and coasted down a wide boulevard towards the ocean. Might as well go all the way…so she continued down to the Great Highway paralleling Ocean Beach and turned north again to take the scenic route. Of course, the scenery was indiscernible in the fog; even the surf a few yards below the road was more audible than visible.

Tracing the perimeter of both city and peninsula, Rally passed the windmills at the base of Golden Gate Park, took the high curve past the Cliff House, dodging enormous tour buses, and turned east on Geary. When she reached Legion of Honor Drive, she got into the left lane and waited to turn.

Rally heard a tap on her driver's window and glanced to the side. A hand in a fingerless driving glove, the arm clad in a heavy black leather jacket. Rally turned and shot a glare at Bean, sitting on the Night Train and idling the engine next to her.

Oh, he was inevitable, all right. He had probably followed her all the way from her hotel and just now gotten up the effrontery to approach her car. She gritted her teeth and looked straight ahead again. Why it had taken him even this long? Then again, she had had no real reason to drive a leisurely route around the city after picking up her new shoulder holster from a gun shop. Had she been hoping that he would approach her?

"C'mon, Vincent, roll down the window," she heard Bean say indistinctly through the glass. "Just a goddamn inch. It ain't rainin' that hard!" She flipped him off and squealed her tires away when the light changed, going up the hill to the museum, through its parking lot and down again, winding past multi-million dollar mansions on small steep lots. Bean stuck right at her side, matching every lane change and speed change as if the Harley were a sidecar newly welded to the Cobra's battered driver's door.

Finally she cracked the window down and shouted at him. "GO AWAY! I WON'T TALK TO YOU IN A THOUSAND—"

"I know that, Vincent! That's why I'm stayin' right here until you DO!"

"Fuck you!" she yelled before thinking, and blushed hotly.

Bean shook his head with a rueful smirk. "Now yer talkin'. Just pull over, huh? Like there. Five minutes: that's all, I promise." He pointed to dark trees lining the edge of the sea cliff.

"Bite me—!" She clapped a hand over her mouth.

"What do they call that? Freudian? Get it out of yer system, woman. Talk to me."

"NO! YOU CAN KISS MY ASS! Oh, _man_…" Rally hit herself on the forehead.

Bean rolled his eyes. When the descending street changed to Lincoln Boulevard and the Presidio, he moved to her right and began to nudge her over to the left.

She stopped short in the road and reversed. Bean also reversed, sliding the Harley behind her, and Rally braked. He pointed over to the left with an insistent forefinger.

"Aaaggh! He is NOT going to leave me alone!"

Briefly she considered picking up her police radio and calling in his location, but believing it would accomplish nothing other than mayhem, she resisted the impulse. Bean crowded her to the left again when she moved forward, and she gave up and took the left-hand fork with Bean right beside her.

He forced a sharp left turn, and as the road trended down towards a parking lot that partially emerged from the mist, Rally realized where they were. Baker's Beach, the same lot that she had gone into when taking Bean out of the hotel garage. The night of the fire. The night she'd lost her virginity with him, parked on this exact stretch of asphalt.

"Ooohh…you SON OF A BITCH!" she seethed. "Speaking of FREUDIAN…!" Rally slowed as she approached the end of the lot, and Bean stopped there, dismounting from the bike.

When he turned to her, Rally cranked her window down and showed him the CZ75 in her hand. "Stay right there!" She reversed and stopped twenty yards away; again the beach lot was empty, and cars on the main road above passed by almost lost in the thick fog except for dimly glowing headlights. They were alone.

"Look, all I want—" Bean began, hands up.

"I know what the hell you want, you scumbag!" she shouted, their voices not carrying well in the grey cocoon of mist.

"No, you—"

"Yes, I do! You are incredibly sorry you lost any chance of ever screwing me again and you would like to know how you could resume where you left off, you drooling, crotch-groping troglodyte! Well, that is so TOTALLY out of the question that—"

"Listen to me, woman!" Bean yelled in sudden anger. "You got to LISTEN to me! Just for FIVE friggin' minutes! You don't owe me nothing, sure! But give me some RESPECT! I ain't a pile of DOGSHIT you can scrape off—" He shut his mouth and looked down, grimacing.

"OK, goddammit, Bean! You want to talk to me that bad, talk to me! But I am not getting out of this car, and I am not taking this gun off you. Don't make any sudden moves!"

"I told you I am not going to hurt you, Vincent." Bean kept his hands spread out, but lowered them to chest level. "Can I come a little closer, huh? Do I gotta yell?"

"No. Stay where you are!"

"What do you want me to do, Vincent? Slit my belly open? I hear that's what the Japs do to say sorry, and it turns out I'm half Jap, if you can believe it. That make you feel better, if I spilled my guts all over the dirt and tripped in 'em? I swear, it'd be easier to do that than get you to TALK to me!"

Rally closed her eyes and put one hand over them. "OK, fine. Come closer. Don't try to touch me, understand?"

"Not a chance." She could hear his steps approaching, and his voice grew more distinct. "OK. You can hear me fine now."

Rally opened her eyes and saw Bean standing about four yards away, hands in jacket pockets. For some time, they both remained silent. Rally put her gun down on the seat. No menace came from him; not even anger emanated between them any more. Bean's quiet proximity made a measurable difference to her own feelings; that, more than anything else, told her what the bond between them was truly like, and that it wasn't something either of them could do anything about.

He meandered closer as if impelled, eventually approaching her side of the car when she made no objection, and hunkered down beside the driver's door facing her, his head a little below hers.

Rally sighed and looked away, then back at him. "So why here? Right where it happened? You want to get all symbolic or something?" It occurred to her that since she had taken Bean out of the garage on the night of the fire they had circumnavigated the city in stages, in various directions and in various states of mind, and here they were at the last point on the circumference, closing the circle…

"It was kind've an accident parking here. But I saw where we were and I thought it made sense. Not like you're going to let me in your hotel room no more." Bean pulled in his lips with a tight smile, not looking her in the eyes. "'Sides, I only want to apologize, so all I'm gonna do here _is_ apologize."

"Oh, good for you," said Rally without much heat.

"Yeah, uh, I fuc—I messed up pretty bad when I found that money in your car. I was kind of drunk still, but that's no excuse. Should never have said all that to you."

"Said what?" She wasn't going to let him skim over any part of this.

"That you were a murderer, 'cause I knew you weren't, and that...that you were selling it, 'cause...hell, I still don't know why you picked me to give it to." Bean waited a moment. Rally looked out at the invisible ocean, but her gaze soon fell to her own lap.

"I should've been goddamn grateful I ever got the chance. OK, I am." He put one hand on the door of the Cobra; she noticed unhealed scabby gashes on his knuckles half concealed by his driving gloves. "I'm never gonna forget what you... I keep thinkin' about how sweet it was. I went and ruined it like the dumb asshole I am."

This wasn't exactly what she had expected, and she wasn't entirely sure how to react. "Yeah," she said faintly, watching her fingers twist together.

"They don't come much stupider than the way I acted. I don't care how mad I was or how...um, let down I felt." He grimaced at his hands and pressed his fists together. "That was stinkin' awful, calling you a whore when you let me do you your first time, and I'm damn sorry for saying it. I'm asking your forgiveness." Bean shifted his crouch and one knee dropped to the ground. "Not that I deserve it or nothing."

Bean Bandit on one knee and begging her pardon. She'd imagined this a number of times, mostly when she'd been furious with him, picturing her own glee and triumph, but to actually see it appalled her. His black head bowed, his huge shoulders hunched. Grey-outlined trees stirred in the wind, dropping stray bits of rain and rustling leaves.

"All right, all right, I forgive you! Get up, will you?" She made an impatient gesture.

For a moment, his eyes showed raw hurt. He pivoted away and stood up. "OK, if that's the way you feel about it. I ain't gonna insist."

"Look, I don't care what kind of names you called me. That's not what bothers me!"

Bean stopped a few paces away. "Yeah?"

"You threatened to kill me, Bean. You made a damn convincing attempt to do so. You said you ought to snap my neck. You ran me and May off the road and came after us with a knife."

"Well, yeah. I meant that."

"What?"

"If you'd lied to me and stolen that cash, that's what I should've done. Killed you."

Her breath chilled in her lungs. "So why didn't you?"

"Aw, hell, woman, you know why not!" He twisted to look at her.

"Because I'd just had sex with you and you didn't want it to look like I'd been _raped_ before I was murdered?" she spat.

"_Shit!"_ He kicked a waist-high solid concrete parking bollard and knocked it askew from its mounting.

"Spell it out, Bean. I'm not turning my back on you until I know the score here!"

Bean jammed his hands in his pockets and glared at her. "I am not going to touch a hair on your head, Vincent. You got nothing to fear from me from here on in. You got my word on that. Never again so long's I live are you gonna see me threaten you, not for anything that could happen. I'd let you shoot me first."

Rally was silent, knowing he meant exactly what he said.

"I know I said I'd kill you. But I ain't going to ask your pardon for that, because anybody who'd shake my hand and then take what's mine would've had it coming. You are not a kid. You know what the rules are. You ought to be grateful I broke 'em in your favor."

Bean walked over to the Harley and got on, snapping the kickstand up and starting the engine. Rally got out of her Cobra and stalked over to the motorcycle, jamming her CZ75 back into the holster. She stood in front of him and put her hands on the motorcycle's crossbar.

"Oh, no, you don't, Bean! TALK! You may think you've said all that needs to be said, but you have NOT! After chasing me all the way here, you are going to give me the _whole_ damn story! No masculine legalist cop-outs, you son of a bitch. I don't want to hear about your _fucking_ RULES! I want answers!"

He looked as trapped as he had on the Highway 92 flyover, thinking that she would call the dogs on him: no escape in any direction. "Vincent, I…"

"Go on, Bean. Maybe you can explain just why you _immediately_ assumed that I had stolen that cash and meant to leave you without a cent. We'd been friends. We'd just been lovers. Why, in God's name, would you think that of me so easily?" On the last words, her voice began to break.

"I…damn, Vincent, I ain't so good at rehashing this kind've stuff." His face worked slightly, flushing.

"Get better, fast. Why?"

"Well…it ain't easy to say." Bean cast around, looking from side to side, and made a grasping gesture with one hand. "You…you'd been damn hard to figure, y'know? Ya put some moves on me, but ya didn't really want it, I thought. Reckoned you were just experimentin'."

"That's pretty close to the truth. Go on."

"Well, I wasn't experimentin'. I've had enough women to know what I want and what I don't want. I knew I wanted you."

"Ah…let's keep this to the point, Bean." A deep twinge thrummed in her, but she didn't want to listen to it. Bean cut the Harley's engine and hung his head.

"That is the point, lady. I wanted you, and I didn't think ya wanted me. Not serious-like, anyway. I got the picture in Buttonkettle, I thought. Ya blew hot an' cold so many times, an' you didn't have no history with guys… I figured it was nothin' but trouble." He scuffed a boot along the ground. "Kept comin' up again all the time, still a problem, but I thought it was settlin' down to a distraction. Ya jumped at me in that car, and I figured it was worse trouble and I'd better vamoose."

He paused, seeming to work his words out with some pain. "I couldn't. Just couldn't, 'cause you were so sick about it all, and 'cause I…it wasn't the right time, or the right place, but I didn't think I'd ever get a chance like that again." His face tried to change, to show her what she really wanted to know, but he won the battle with his expression.

"No…you probably wouldn't have."

"Yeah. I knew you didn't really want it, not from me, an' then it was so damn good I lost my fool head." Bean stared at his boot toe. "Ya got away from me so fast when it was over. I was tryin' real hard not to let you get away. I really thought there for a second that you'd stay with me, 'least for a while. Then I saw the damn suitcase, and I thought I knew it all."

"Knew it all?"

A long, unhappy sigh. "Like, you wanted to use me up an' toss me out when you'd got what you wanted. Like, you'd got the money, and that was what you wanted out've this deal, an' I was somethin' you wouldn't wipe yer feet on any other day've the year." He paused for a minute, his gaze still cast at the ground. "It wasn't so much the dough, I guess. It was knowin', like I thought I knew, that you didn't want me."

"Oh…"

Bean let go of the handlebars and folded his arms, his face finally washing over with sadness. "I know you don't want me. Not the way I thought then, but I know it. I got my chance, lady, and I blew it so bad they'd've heard it bust apart in freakin' Red China." Slowly he shook his head, over and over, his voice faintly uneven. "I ain't askin' for another chance. I just want to know if you would've slept in my bed that night, if that god-blasted money hadn't been there." He looked at her, his eyes so sad she had to turn hers away. "Just that night?"

"I don't know, Bean." Rally put a finger over her mouth and took it away, not knowing what to do with her hands. "I don't think so."

He didn't answer for a long time. She heard his shoulders sag inside his jacket, the lining hissing faintly against his T-shirt. A hand wrapped his lower face for a moment, then both hands jammed into his pockets once more.

"Bean?"

"It's OK, woman," he said quietly. "Not like you got to want a guy that wants you. There ain't no law says you ought. But if you screw him anyway, you gotta expect he might think you do."

"I…I'm sorry, Bean." She really was. She'd treated him like crap, all along. Like a machine she could turn on and load and aim in a particular direction, then turn off and leave in park, holstered away until she needed it again. When he'd behaved like an independent being with a mind and feelings, she'd done her best to rip out his heart and stomp on it. Even when she had offered him her body to soothe and embrace and take, so ardently, she had pushed away the idea that he might construe such an act as a declaration.

He did have a reason for what he'd believed and the way he'd behaved, though not enough reason to justify what he'd done, and a sense of release began to flood through her. She'd been far more ready to truly forgive him than she had thought. All she had needed to know was that he actually was a human being with a sentient soul, not the machine he preferred to be. It was like the moment she'd realized she couldn't shoot him just to prevent his taking a suitcase of cash; the moment she had let him pass unchallenged on the road to the bridge. She couldn't torment him any longer for his sins, though the scales were far from balanced yet. A little emotional abuse wasn't the same thing as a knife in the face…

She let the thought go. The only path to making this right was through pure mercy, not by evening out a debt.

"Bean…I forgive you."

The words seemed to break a little sun through the fog, and Rally walked to her car. When she slid behind the wheel, she glanced over at Bean for a moment as he still sat on the Harley. At the sight of his face, head tilted back to the unseen sky and his eyes gently closed as if against a light too intense, she knew, as if by some surety of grace, that she had done the right thing.


	15. Chapter 15

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Fifteen**

"What's your pleasure?" said the bartender in a friendly tone.

"Damned if I know," muttered his new customer, swinging one long leg over a barstool. "Beer."

The bartender slid a full bowl of peanuts into his reach and took down a glass. "I got Henry Weinhardt's, Red Hook, and Budweiser on tap."

"Pitcher," said Bean, scrunching up a large handful of peanuts. "Bud."

"You got it," said the bartender, fetching a pitcher. For a moment, the only sound was the beer running from the tap and the peanuts crunching. The other patrons stared at the new arrival, but the bartender was unruffled. He let the head subside and topped the pitcher off, then set it in front of his customer.

Bean pushed a fifty at him. "Keep 'em coming." He picked up the pitcher and drank straight from it, finishing it in two long gulps, then took another handful of peanuts, emptying the bowl. The bartender watched with interest, as did the handful of lunchtime customers, mostly middle-aged black men like himself. The pitcher refilled, Bean drained it just as fast as the first one and let out a sigh.

"You got a thirst today," remarked the bartender, wiping the bar and replenishing the peanuts. He refilled the pitcher again.

"Guess so." Bean nursed the third pitcher. A middle-aged woman, her hair long and lank and greying, her clothes too tight on a misshapen body, limped into the bar and sat near him.

"Hi, Marian," said the bartender, smiling with a flash of white teeth and turning on his blender. "Disability check in?"

"All one hundred and thirty bucks of it, baby. I'm fucking rich," she replied as he set a daiquiri in front of her. Bean took a pack of Marlboros from his jacket, then seemed to recall something, shrugged in mild annoyance, and began to put them away.

"Is it a smoking lunch hour?" said the bartender to the room. "Show of hands." Of six customers, five hands went up. Only the new customer looked around with an air of slight confusion.

"In this joint, it's majority rules," said the bartender. "This is what you call direct democracy, and democracy is what makes this country great. All origins, creeds, and colors live together in at least theoretical equality. We do our best." He nodded at the pack still in Bean's hand and laid ashtrays on the bar. "Smoke 'em if you got 'em." A few men lit up.

Bean smiled for the first time since he had walked in. "Suits me." He tapped one out of the pack and felt for a lighter in his jacket.

"Offer a lady a smoke?" said Marian, finishing her daquiri.

Bean held out his pack and she took one. He lit it for her, then his own, and took a deep drag. Looking into the mirror behind the bar, he examined his face for a while through the shifting cloud of smoke: hard-edged features, long jaw, untidy shock of black hair, the prominent criss-cross scar over his nose. Eventually he heaved another sigh, a long one tinged with regret, even melancholy.

"Hey, big guy," said Marian. "It can't be that bad."

Bean glanced at her and said nothing. The bartender turned on the television and changed the channel to a soap opera. Marian ordered another daiquiri and watched the soap for a few minutes, blowing expert smoke rings. A pair of lovers argued on the screen and ended up in bed, kissing.

Bean rolled his eyes and finished his third pitcher. "Hey, barkeep," he said to the bartender. "Know any quiet places to flop? Everywhere I try is full up for the goddamn weekend. Don't have to be cheap."

The bartender considered for a moment. "You are not a local, I would venture to remark."

"Nope."

"Chicago, right?"

Bean raised a brow. "Good ear."

"I cultivate a good ear, since I believe that regional accents are one of the essential variations that keep this country vital. Besides, I have a couple old Chicago blues brothas playing here weekends." He smiled again with the flash of teeth. "Bass and guitar, and the guitar man sings like John Lee Hooker. Come on in tonight; they start at eight."

"I'm gettin' frickin' homesick," mumbled Bean.

"But you have to stay in the fair city of San Francisco a few days longer?"

"'Fraid so. I got obligations."

"Try the Yerba Buena Motor Inn, two blocks west. They generally keep a few rooms back, even on Saturdays. Tell 'em Louis at the Blues Room says hi."

"OK; thanks." Bean knocked ashes off the end of his cigarette.

"I got love problems," announced Marian to no one in particular. "Nobody fucking loves me."

"I am sorry to hear that," Louis replied.

"This guy is not so bad looking, you know." She looked at Bean, who ignored her. "I like the hair. I like the shoulders, too, though he does look like a tough sonofabitch. My last husband was a tough sonofabitch, a little like this guy. Not so good looking, though."

"I understand," said Louis.

"He looks like he hasn't grown into his hands and feet yet, though. When the hands and feet are as big as that, it's because they grow first and the rest of the person catches up." Marian shifted on the bar stool, her lumpy body moving slowly and painfully. "He must not have grown up all the way yet, which means he may end up something more than he is now. Something bigger."

"Now that's an interesting thought," said Louis.

"He must have got that scar in a fight, huh? Because he looks like he gets in fights a lot. Like my last husband. If Bert hadn't died in the crash, he'd have got killed in a fight, I feel sure. He had some scars like that 'cause he didn't tend to win those fights. It's too bad this guy got that scar, you know. He'd be awfully cute if he didn't have that scar."

"Don't go making too many personal comments, Marian. You know you don't like it if people make personal comments about you, honey. Remember?"

"Yeah, I guess." Marian nudged Bean's elbow. "Sorry, huh? No offense?"

"No offense," he replied with the ghost of a laugh. "That ain't the kind of thing I generally go fightin' about."

"That is a good philosophy," said the bartender. "I don't like fights in bars, on any subject. We can have our differences and not fight about them."

"Can I have another smoke, big guy?" said Marian. Bean took one cigarette out and handed her the pack. "Oh, thank you, sweetie. You are a gentleman. I haven't spoken to many gentlemen since that crash. You see, that's why I have a little trouble remembering not to say some things. Bert had a Camaro and he drove kind of fast. What's your name, sweetie? I like you. You look like you have enough money to drink every week."

Bean looked at her sideways.

"She doesn't mean anything by it, dude," said Louis. "You seem like a nice guy." He raised his brows at Bean. "An understanding guy."

"I go by Bean," said Bean after a moment.

"I like your name, sweetie," said Marian. "Do you have love problems, Bean?"

"Naw," said Bean, his expression going blank and heavy, and tapped his empty pitcher. "Not me." Louis filled a fresh one and took away the empty.

"You must get the girls," said Marian. "You are cute."

"Yeah, I get the girls." Bean drank deep, his voice beginning to slur. "Got me one now, matter of fact."

"Oh, now is that a fact? It's nice to have someone to love." Marian glanced at the soap opera, where business associates were hatching a plot. "Do you love her a lot, Bean? Does she love you?"

"I got to take a leak." Bean slid off the barstool and picked up the restroom key. In a minute he returned, put the key on the bar and lit his last cigarette. Another customer came in and ordered. The soap opera lovers kissed again, making vows.

"Tell me about your girl, Bean," said Marian, watching the television and smoking Bean's Marlboros. "I want to hear about her. How you got somebody to love."

Bean took a long, long drink and emptied his fourth pitcher. He put it down and wiped his mouth, staring ruminatively at the bar mirror. "I don't know how the hell I got to have her. That ain't a question I got the answer to."

"Does anyone?" said Louis, making an old-fashioned.

"But you got her anyway," said Marian dreamily.

"Oh, I got me that girl real good." Bean tapped his chest with his knuckles. "Never going to lose that lady, not if I wanted to, not my whole life long. Don't know how she did it, but she's done it good. She's stayin' with me, no matter what the hell I think I can do about it."

"Must be a nice lady," said Louis. "Since you are such a nice guy." He garnished the old-fashioned with a maraschino cherry and put it on the bar for the customer.

"I ain't as nice as I look on the outside." Bean slightly lifted his upper lip in a half-smile. The bartender blinked. "But she ain't either, so no matter."

"I used to be pretty," said Marian. "I was a cute girl when I was younger. Before the crash and all. I had a good figure. Is your girl cute?"

"Uh-huh." Bean stared at the bottom of his pitcher. "Real pretty."

"She look like you, Bean? What are you, anyway?"

"Not like me. More…brown. Dark."

"A woman of color, then?" said Louis. "This is a man of impeccable taste, and here he is sitting in my bar, all the way out from Chicago."

"I don't know exactly. She's got color. But she's got blue eyes. Don't know how those got together." Bean put a hand over his face and rubbed his lips. "I look at her and I don't care how. Just real pretty."

"I had a white grandpa myself," said Louis. "I have cousins with blue eyes, so that's not unheard of. Vive la difference."

"I ain't never seen a woman like her anywhere else. Prettiest thing I ever saw. Smart lady—got an education somewhere, and knows the streets. The best at what she does, too. Heckuva combination."

"Sounds like she's a tough girl, Bean," Marion said. "I could have used a little more tough, myself."

"Damn tough when it counts. Maybe kinda tender otherwise." Bean closed his eyes. "Real sweet lady..."

"This is a great country," said Louis. "All races, all colors, all combinations thereof. It all adds up to _homo sapiens sapiens,_ and variety is the spice of life. You look like you are a combination yourself. No offense."

"No offense."

"That's nice, she's good at what she does," said Marian. "Is she good to you, Bean?"

He dropped his head and rubbed a hand over his mouth again. "Better than she oughta be. Better'n I deserve."

"There's no man really deserves what a good woman does for him," observed the bartender. "There's no perfect man in this world, and still the women love us, with all our faults intact. It's the gift of God; his infinite wisdom in our iniquity."

"Somethin' like that," said Bean, smiling faintly. Another customer came in, looking behind him as he shut the door.

"That is one bitchin' mid-year parked out there," he said as he came up to the bar. "Hey, Louis. Hey, Marian. Hey, stranger. That your 'Vette?"

"Yep."

"Man, that is one fine car. You got admirers starting to gather, though I warn ya they're thinking about ripping it off." Bean grunted, but didn't reply. "A fine car. Gimme a Henry's, Louis." Louis drew him a glass. "Damn, I wish I had a car like that. You must be a chick magnet with that car, man." Bean got up and stubbed out his cigarette, then put another fifty on the bar.

"You got change coming already, dude," said Louis.

"Cover the lady's tab." Bean pointed with his chin.

"You take care, now, Bean," said Louis, picking up the fifty.

"You want to take me home?" said Marian. "I know you don't, but I'm just checking."

"I got that lady waitin' for me," said Bean, quirking his mouth off center. He turned to the door just as four men opened it: two Vietnamese, one Chinese and one Malay. The Chinese man sported a large shiner on his left eye and the Malay had a taped-up broken nose.

They stared at Bean, who stared back. "You fellas lookin' for me? Whether you are or not, you just found me, dragon-shit." He cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders inside his jacket.

"Oh, fuck," the Malay whispered. "That cah belong to Roadbusta!"

"Take your differences outside," said Louis, wiping the bar.

"No problem," said Bean, and headed for the door.

* * *

"You look a lot better, Larry." Rally took his hand, smiling. "Just as cute as ever." He did look better; still pale and frail, but he was sitting upright in bed and the bruises and blotches had faded somewhat. Half concealed in flower arrangements, his family sat and stood and strolled around with take-out food.

"You know exactly what to say to me, Rally," Larry replied, grinning back. "Just the sight of you would bring a dying man back from the brink." He looked her up and down. "Nice outfit."

"Glad you like it." She had taken May to the malls again and picked out a hospital-visiting ensemble; a Chinese-lacquer-red skirt and matching fitted fingertip-length coat, with a white soft-collared shirt. "We wanted to cheer you up, and we thought you had enough flowers and stuff already!"

"That's for sure!" piped up May, picking her way across the floor between towering potted orchids. "You must have a lot of friends in this town!"

"I'm going to take most of this to the food bank, Larry," remarked Vanessa, gathering up fruit baskets. "The bomb squad opened everything before they let it in here, so it's going to go bad unless somebody eats it soon. You want to keep the pears, or the oranges?"

"Pears," said Larry, waving his free hand. "Go ahead. Take anything you think they can use—Mama has all the cards. Everything you can haul, or I'm going to open up a gift shop with all this stock!" His parents smiled and nodded at Rally and May, putting their heads together and talking in Cantonese. "OK, you know Vanessa, and you met my parents, and this is Emerald, and over there are Cassandra and Jade —they're fifteen and like it to be known that they are _not_ identical twins."

"Hi, Emerald," said Rally, shaking hands with the sister next to her, who looked about nineteen and wore her hair long, straight, and bleached to a reddish color. "I hear you're at Berkeley too."

"Uh-huh, nice to meet you, I've got a study section in about half an hour, bye, Larry," replied Emerald, and left. The younger sisters giggled, bobbed their heads in greeting and returned to working their way through a large gift box of chocolates. Both of the teenagers were slim and pretty, their shiny black hair worn in ponytails, and seemed very shy. May went over to them and began to chatter, and they offered her some candy. Rally returned to Larry.

"So you've been talking to Pete Smith. How's it going?"

"Not bad. We did the male bonding thing using the theme of gunshot wounds—he tells me he fought in Vietnam, as I'm sure you've heard—and we're getting along fine. He compliments you, you know. Said he and his partner were very impressed with your abilities."

"Gosh." Rally didn't know quite what to say to that. "Well, he knows you're a friend of mine and wants to get on your good side! I think he's coming right after lunch, by the way. It may be Saturday, but investigations don't wait for weekends. I'll try not to wear you out before he gets here."

"No fear of that. Just seeing you puts a charge into me. You're looking good. Something in your face… Things must be going better for you." Rally smiled, knowing what he meant. Her interview with Bean that morning had left something warm glowing within her, a light without any other source. Larry hitched himself up. "Say, I asked about Bean and what he was doing, and Smith looked kind of funny and got off the subject. Is that something I can talk to you about?"

"Bean? Why?"

"Is there something wrong between you? I got the impression that…threats had been made." Larry looked concerned. "I thought he was very partial to you, but I suppose he might be the kind to conceive a grudge. I know your operation didn't go well, and Smith said more people died than Huang. Don't tell me you're in danger from Bean now, on top of it all?"

"Um…there _was_ something wrong between us. As for danger, I know it's not over where 426 is concerned, but…I saw Bean this morning, before I came here." Rally looked down, squeezing Larry's hand. "Don't worry about it. He made me a promise, and I'm not in danger from him…maybe from myself, but that's not actually his fault. Now that I think about it, the danger from my own end comes in a couple of varieties, but it all adds up to the same thing...and it all leads to him. In a sense."

Larry waited a moment, apparently waiting for her to say more, but Rally was silent. "OK, that was so cryptic, I will have to assume this is forbidden territory. I won't inquire further for now. My parents want to say something to you, anyway."

Rally looked up at the elder Sams, who both rose and bowed to her, to her discomfiture. She stood up. "Miss Rally Vincent," said Mr. Sam with careful pronounciation, "my wife and I thank you from the bottom of our heart. You save our son's life, and your partna Miss May Hopkins too. We are in your infinite debt and you eat free in any restaurant we run for rest of your life. We like to hold for you a big banquet at restaurant our friend own. You are guests of honor, all our family and friend come. It is nothing compared to our son. We ask you to accept, please."

"A _banquet_ in our honor? Oh…wow. Um, thank you, Mr. Sam, Mrs. Sam. It was my pleasure. May's too." Surprised and deeply touched, Rally felt her cheeks glow. May came over and both of them bowed to the Sams, who bowed back. "I don't know when we can accept your invitation. We're tied up with the investigation, but when that's over…"

"I'll explain to them," said Larry, and fired off a rapid burst of Cantonese. May added a comment, and the Sams laughed.

"I undastand," said Mr. Sam. "You are hard working ladies. We make plans."

"I'll look forward to it," said Rally, keeping another thought unspoken—_if we live through this, that is_. Which was by no means certain… Someone knocked on the door, and Mrs. Sam let in a woman dressed in a brocade cheongsam and carrying a large Walgreens tote bag. The half-dozen FBI agents outside checked the room briefly and closed the door again.

"Traditional healer," said Larry, pointing his chin at the woman with the tote bag. "I get herbs and acupuncture every day. Helps with the pain, but I think I'm going to give most of the credit to the guy who plugged the leaks." His mother and the healer went into an animated discussion, and the healer brought out an incense burner and a picture of a Chinese deity. They set up a small altar on the bedside table and stacked oranges in a pyramid in front of the picture.

"By the way," said Rally, "do you know Chinese characters?"

"Some," said Larry. "A couple of thousand. Enough to read the newspapers. Emerald's probably the most literate of the family. Why?"

"Do you know this one?" Rally looked in her purse and produced the sketch she had made of the burn on O'Toole's chest. "I know I have this wrong. A Chinese-speaking FBI agent couldn't make it out. But does it look like anything?"

Larry studied it for a few moments and shrugged. "Not to me."

"Let me see." Vanessa took the paper. "I know the radical…but the rest looks strange. You've got the strokes out of order."

"If you say so! I have no idea how that goes."

"If I kind of extrapolate…" Vanessa took a pencil and drew a similar character next to the one Rally had drawn, with some extra lines. "Like that?"

"Yes, that looks better. What does it mean?"

"'Retribution'." Vanessa raised her brows. "Where did you see it?"

"On a person."

"_On_ a person?" said Larry.

"Yes…a burn, like a blowtorch flame would have made."

"Someone 426 killed, then," said Larry. "Oh, my God. Who was it?"

"A man named O'Toole, and it did occur to me that only 426 would have done something like that to him. But he wasn't dead at the time. He was attacking me."

Larry and Vanessa looked at each other. "That's weird," said Vanessa. "If 426 went that far, you'd think he would finish the job."

"I thought so too."

"Larry, have you…um, _told her_ about 426?"

"Yes, I have," said Larry, glancing at his parents. "And I told Smith, who didn't blink an eye." He looked at his sister. "I guess you were right, because it feels better. I hadn't realized until now that I was still carrying it like a load." The healer came over and started to unbutton Larry's pajama top.

"OK, good. You know I said that talking about it might help." Vanessa squeezed her brother's hand.

"Help?" said Rally, glancing from sister to brother. "Oh…"

"Do you know he came to me crying?" said Vanessa in a low voice, drawing Rally away from the bed and the elder Sams. "He said he'd slept with a man and he hated himself for doing it. At first I thought it was because of self-disgust from encountering his own bisexuality, even though he is not a creep and has a gay family member—" she pointed to herself —"and I started lecturing him about destructive internalization of traditional prejudices, like an idiot. Then he told me who it was and why he'd done it." She closed her eyes briefly.

"I was eighteen, he was twenty. That was the first I'd heard about the Eight Dragon Triad, and I was fucking horrified. Now I know nearly as much as Larry does about 426 and I still don't know how he could bear to keep the friendship going until this week. That man may not have raped him, but it comes mighty close on an emotional basis, OK? Larry had no idea what he was in for, and then he stuck with his purpose anyway."

"I wouldn't have been that brave, Vanessa," said Rally. "He might not have been real forthcoming to me at first, but there was no reason he should be—we only met five days ago. Why did he start this crusade so young? Why didn't he talk to the cops? Why did he think he had to do it alone?"

"Not totally alone. I made the mics, and Dad let him do what he wanted—of course, my parents have _no_ idea how far he's gone, so I'd appreciate…"

"I got the picture." Rally nodded reassuringly.

"But yeah, he's the eldest, and the only son, and I think he thought it was his responsibility. You know…" Vanessa looked over at her father, who sat alone as his wife handed disposable acupuncture needles to the healer and fussed over her son. "I'm going to ask Dad to explain. He's the one to tell it, though his English isn't fluent. I think the point will get across in any case."

She put a hand on Rally's arm and walked over to her father. Mr. Sam listened and nodded, then rose and approached Rally.

"I take you away from Larry now," said Mr. Sam. "My daughter say I need talk to you a little, OK?"

"Sure thing. Um…May, could you help us out?"

"Your partna speak good Chinese," said Mr. Sam. "I talk in Chinese, then, and she tell you what I say, OK?"

"I'll do the best I can," said May. "Larry's a lot more bilingual than I am, and Mr. Sam's not from the same part of China as the person I learned most of my Cantonese from."

"I'll give you a hand if you need it," said Vanessa, cramming fruit into a grocery bag. "I know Dad's Guangzhou dialect, of course, though calling it a dialect rather than an independent language deemphasizes the vast differences existing between the traditional Chinese culture areas and gives too much credence both to colonialist ideas and the Communist repression of ethnic and ideological variations within their area of influence." Rally and May looked at her. "Don't worry; I'll let Dad get a word in edgewise."

"OK; thanks."

"I tell you story," said Mr. Sam, beckoning Rally to the table and sitting down. "About Triad. Not Eight Dragons. Another Triad. Pearl Tigers, from Guangzhou."

Rally began to understand what this was about. "All right." She sat down as well.

Mr. Sam began to speak in Cantonese, and May began to translate with an occasional aside from Vanessa.

"I was born in a village in the countryside right outside Guangzhou," said May. "In the year of the Communist takeover, in 1949. My parents were farmers. They raised pigs. They never had a lot of money, and the Red Army soldiers and the—" May looked at Vanessa.

"Local Party officials. The political cadres in the villages."

"OK, the local Party officials took most of what they had. We could not even eat our own pork because we had to sell all the pigs to the farm cooperative, and they did not pay much. All the meat we got to eat was the scraps from the restaurant my mother's cousin ran in Guangzhou. I worked in the restaurant and I worked on the farm. I was not a good son or a good nephew. I didn't want to work hard, and the pigs smelled very bad, so I was lazy every chance I got. I wanted to have new clothes, and I wanted to have enough to eat.

"When I was sixteen, in 1965, I went to work for a man who was the richest man around. He owned the whorehouse and he owned the gambling house. He had a red stone house and he had a motorbike, and he had gasoline for the motorbike. I wanted to be that rich some day. Even the Party did not touch his money. I knew he was Triad, but I didn't care. I wanted to be Triad if that would mean I was rich. I thought, I will make a lot of money and then I will show it to my parents, and they will be sorry they are only pig farmers instead of smart like me."

"We hear this story in its entirety about three times a year," said Vanessa when Mr. Sam paused and took a drink of water. "You might call this the defining family tale. Every one of us could recite it to you from memory, but I'm glad you can hear it firsthand—he's putting in a lot of detail this time." Mr. Sam went on, May talking over him.

"The rich Triad man made me work hard. I had to run errands and take messages. I would take letters and packages to people and sometimes I even was allowed to ride the motorbike. I went all the way to the city sometimes and I would pretend the motorbike was mine. I didn't mind working hard if someday I would be rich and have my own motorbike."

"Dad does not have a driver's license, by the way," Vanessa put in. "He drives like a drunk chicken being plucked alive, so Mama does all the shopping."

"Most of the time I went on foot, though," May continued. "I walked many _li_—long distances. I had to clean my boss's house and take the shit out of his pit toilet. Nobody had flush toilets around there, even the rich Triad man. We used shit for fertilizer on the vegetable fields, so everyone sold it to the farmers. It smelled even worse than the pigs when I had to carry the buckets of shit down to the village on a—" May paused. "What's that word?"

"Mei-shang-si," said Vanessa. "It's a pair of baskets hanging on a pole—you know, that villagers carry loads with. I might also mention that the use of, um, night soil is the reason most Chinese don't eat raw vegetables or salads."

"OK. The rich man had two wives, and he used the girls in the whorehouse he owned. He had lots of clothes, and he was fat from all the meat he ate. I cooked for him, because I was a good cook from working in the restaurant, and I watched him eat and I washed all the dishes after I ate what was left, which was never more than a couple of bites. I wanted so much to be like him some day. I didn't think when I was sixteen that he was greedy and a fat pig. I just thought, he has what everyone wants to have, so he must be happy.

"Other Pearl Tiger men came over to his house and drank a lot of wine and had fun with the girls. The local Party officials came too, and then I knew why the Party didn't do anything about my boss's money. I didn't get to drink with the men or have fun with the girls. I had to bring more bottles of wine and just watch. I didn't want to be just a house servant. I wanted to do something important for the Pearl Tigers so they would let me eat meat and drink wine with them."

The Chinese healer had removed the covers from the bed and twirled fine needles into a number of spots on Larry's chest and forehead and arms. The smell of sandalwood incense filled the room, wafting from several thin sticks that smouldered in the burner in front of the little altar and the Chinese deity. The women's voices made a background hum, and the girls with the chocolate also conversed in Cantonese.

If Rally closed her eyes, she could imagine she was in another country; a huge, crowded, desperately poor country, steeped in ancient tradition and age-old corrupt practice, a place where a poor farm boy might well believe that a criminal life was the only way out of squalor and hunger. For some reason, she thought of Bean.

"One day my boss called me into his sitting room. I wasn't allowed in there unless I was sweeping, so I didn't know what he wanted. There was another Triad visiting. He smiled at me. My boss and the visitor said they had a new job for me. I had been working there six months, and I didn't steal and I was good at doing what I was told. So now they would let me do something for the Pearl Tigers. I was so excited. I thought that I would be rich soon."

Mr. Sam stopped and took another drink of water, and May looked at Rally. "He's using a lot of 'earth language', which means farmer's dialect. Luckily Granny Hao was a farmer's daughter!"

"You learned your Chinese from Granny Hao?" Rally remembered the wizened old woman who ran a Chinese pharmacy in Chicago's Chinatown.

"Yep. She'd talk Cantonese all morning while things were quiet and slap my butt when I pronounced things wrong! She wanted me to speak it to the Chinese customers, and at least half of the customers were Chinese, so she made me work hard!" May smiled ruefully. "You know, I just thought about it now—I, um,'waited on' a hell of a lot of Triads when I worked there. I wonder if I met any members of the Eight Dragons at the time."

"Geez. I should show you Larry's file box and see if you recognize anyone. Though I'm not sure if that would help with the investigation or not."

"What kind of business did you work in?" asked Vanessa with some surprise. "The only way someone like you would meet Triads is—" She stopped short. "Oh. OK, you might not want to mention that to my mother."

"Yes, I kind of figured that!" giggled May.

"I will keep on telling story," said Mr. Sam.

"OK, I'm ready," said May. "Gosh, I'm getting so much practice—it's all coming back!"

Mr. Sam began to speak again. "I thought I was going to be rich soon. I went to the city with the Tiger who had come to my boss's house. He gave me a bed in a room with six other young men who were doing jobs for the Triad. We all worked hard, but it was the same thing for me as it had been in the village. I had to cook since I was the best cook, and I had to wash the dishes and sweep. But in the city there were sanitary workers to shovel out the pit toilets, so I didn't have to do that any more. I thought things were getting a little better.

"One night my new boss came to the room where I was sleeping and told me to get my clothes on. I got up and I went with him. We went down the streets and into a house. I heard someone…someone screaming. I was frightened. We went right into the room. The Tigers had a man in there, and they were beating and kicking him. He was yelling, have mercy, have mercy. They told him he owed them money and that if he didn't pay it he was going to be killed. He kept screaming and told them he had no money left. They beat him and kicked him until he was dead."

Rally felt her lips begin to tremble and clamped them together with a sharp inhalation. Larry looked up. "Oh, God," he said from his bed, face bristling with acupuncture needles. "Not the Pearl Tigers. Dad, please don't inflict—"

"'Fraid so, bro," said Vanessa. "Remember, these gals are at least as tough as we Sams are."

"You are going to earn every toast of that banquet…" sighed Larry.

"I want to know this," said Rally. "Go on, Mr. Sam. Are you OK, May?"

"Believe me, I know about Triads. This doesn't surprise me." May took a deep breath and slipped back into the storytelling rhythm once more, her light soprano underscored with Mr. Sam's deeper, slightly harsh singsong Cantonese. "There was blood everywhere in the room. It was all over the floor and the walls. He had pissed his pants and when he was dead, he let go his bowels and there was shit everywhere. I had to clean up the room. When I was finished cleaning, I threw up my stomach all over and had to clean that up too. I felt very sick. I didn't want the Tigers to know that, so I didn't tell them how sick I felt. Then they told me I had to get rid of the dead man."

Rally took a horrified glance at Vanessa. "Yes, he tells it over the dinner table," said Vanessa, smiling slightly. "Preferably when we're having hungshao ro or something else red and meaty. I haven't liked hungshao ro since I was six years old."

May looked a little green, but continued translating. "They told me to put the man in the river, so I did that. I took him in a wheelbarrow and covered him up with sacks, and dumped him in the river. Every once in a while after that, my boss would wake me up in the night and I would have to get rid of a dead person and clean up a room.

"They paid me more now. I had extra money and food and I didn't have to sweep the house where I lived. I had new clothes because every time I did this job, I had to get rid of my clothes. I started drinking whatever I could find to get drunk on. I started buying wine and drinking it so I would not have to think about cleaning up the dead people. I would dream about them even when I was drunk.

"It was not always men. Sometimes it would be a woman who owed gambling debts, or a girl who tried to run away from a whorehouse, and twice it was young boys. I saw their faces and I saw their eyes looking at me at night when I was trying to sleep. After the first girl, I started smoking opium. I was seventeen now."

Rally tried to keep her face composed. No wonder this man's son hated the Triads. No wonder he had done everything he could to fight them…

"I chased the dragon and it made me feel a little better. I spent all my money on opium. I chased the dragon every day and soon I didn't care about anything but chasing the dragon. All I wanted was the opium pipe, and not to feel bad about the dead people. I didn't know what to do. I thought I should go back to my parents and feed the pigs instead of doing this job. I knew I couldn't leave now because I knew about all these killings. The Pearl Tigers would kill me."

"'Chasing the dragon'," said Vanessa, "is now usually used to describe heroin smoking, but opium smoking is the original meaning."

"One night, I had a man in a wheelbarrow, taking him to the river. I was flying on opium smoke and it seemed like a dream. I thought I was dreaming when I heard him groan. He kept groaning. When I got to the river and I was going to dump him into the water, he moved. I knew he was alive. If I dumped him into the river, the river dragon would take him—he would drown. The only reason I had been able to keep doing what I was doing was because they didn't make me kill any of the people. I only cleaned up.

"But if I did my job now, I would not be only cleaning up. I would be killing someone. I would be a murderer. I was flying on opium smoke, but I knew that I couldn't throw this man in the river. I took the wheelbarrow to a hospital and I left him there. I went home and I didn't tell anyone what I had done.

"In the morning I told my boss I had dropped the wheelbarrow in the river by accident because I had been chasing the dragon. He beat me and told me to buy a new one with my own money. I didn't mind the beating. I took all the money I had and went out of that place. I walked all the way through the city. I walked back to my village. It took all day to get there. I went to my father and kowtowed to him. I asked my father to take me back into his house. I would feed the pigs and take the shit to the farmers. He said he would, and I was so happy. I wanted to be a farmer now.

"I went to my relative's restaurant to ask for my job back. He was angry with me for going to work for the Pearl Tigers for a whole year. He told me I had wasted my time there. I kowtowed and apologized as much as I could and he told me I was a stupid infant. He told me that if I wanted to be a rich man, I would not be able to do it in China unless I did evil things or joined the stinking Party.

"He said, you have to go to the Mountain of Gold, to America. Everyone can get a good job in America, and there is no Communist Party and no Triads. You have to go to the Mountain of Gold, he said. Get out of China like so many Chinese people before you. Go where they live and you can cook my secret dishes for them and you can earn honest money.

"I went home to tell this to my father. I wanted to take him and my mother and my brothers and sisters to the Mountain of Gold where we would all be safe from the Pearl Tigers. While I was walking back home at night, I saw that there was a fire in the village. I thought someone was burning trash outdoors, but the fire was bigger than that. I got closer and I saw that the fire dragon was in my father's house.

"I ran back. I ran so hard I could not breathe. I saw the fire dragon come through the roof and the roof fall into the house. I got to the house and I saw the neighbors standing outside. I didn't see my father or my mother or any of my brothers and sisters. I asked where they were, and the neighbors said they were inside the house. I knew that the fire dragon had already taken them. The house was nothing but fire. I cried so hard I could not stand up."

Rally could not see for tears. Vanessa took her hand and squeezed it. "Chinese tradition says that you should not try to rescue people from a fire or from drowning; if they are in that situation, it's because the fire dragon or the river dragon has chosen them.

"If you save them…the dragon will come after you instead."

* * *

"Bring it on." Bean beckoned and strode forward, his face hardening into a fierce smile. The four Dragons backed up, through the door of the Blues Room and out onto the sidewalk. Some of the patrons huddled into the doorway to see. "C'mon. I could use a good tussle, though I dunno if you little shits are up to it!"

One Dragon yelled into a cell phone. Bean reached for it and spoke into the receiver. "Hey there, dragon-shit. Come one, come all!" He dropped the phone and stepped on it with a loud crunch. "Ain't nobody gonna take the first shot? Well, fuck it, then." He unzipped his jacket and grabbed the Chinese Dragon by the shirt front.

BAM! The Malay pulled an automatic and fired, but the bullet whizzed over Bean's head and clipped a lock of hair. WHAM! Bean threw the Chinese into the Malay and both went down. The two Vietnamese still standing assumed martial-arts poses and charged. Bean blocked the first and tripped the second. The tripped man did a shoulder roll and came up on his feet as the Malay and the man Bean had thrown struggled up.

The Malay aimed his automatic again, and Bean grabbed his hand. KRUNCH! Bean bent the wrist backwards and twisted it, audibly cracking the joint, and the pistol fell to the sidewalk beside the crushed cell phone. Bean kicked it into a storm drain and punched the Malay directly on his broken nose.

The Malay screamed and fell flat on his back, and the three other Dragons looked at each other. They kept their distance, holding hands up in defensive-strike mode as Bean moved forward, stepping over the fallen man. One lashed out with a kick aimed square for Bean's stomach, and the other two chopped at his legs and throat.

Bean blocked only the throat shot, but when the other strikes landed he moved a mere pace backwards. WHAM! He swung a roundhouse punch that hit one man on the side of the head and sent him sprawling, the others leaping back to avoid the flying body. BAMBAM! Both of them drew automatics and fired at Bean, missing badly.

"I saw ya holdin' her down, didn't I?" Bean snarled. "Yeah, you had yer hands on her, asswipes! Hope you don't mind me gettin' my hands on YOU!"

Up to this point Bean had moved deliberately and methodically, perhaps assessing the strength and skill of his opponents; now his expression heated and he almost seemed to grow larger, shoulders rising and legs tensing, his bristling hair adding several inches of height to his natural stature. His lips curled back from his teeth as he swung another roundhouse punch, so fast the spectators saw only a blur.

WHAAMM! One of the Vietnamese took the blow on the jaw, and instantly went down as if poleaxed. BAM! The other fired again as the punch landed, and hit the collar of Bean's jacket. On the backswing, he caught Bean's elbow to his throat and fell to his knees. Choking and gasping, he emptied his gun at Bean, who deflected every shot with an upraised arm and aimed a boot at the man's torso.

Three large dark imported luxury sedans rounded the corner just as the boot hit bone. The Dragon sprawled on the sidewalk with a caved-in chest, spitting up blood. The spectators applauded, and the BMWs pulled up. Doors flew open, ejecting a dozen armed Dragons into the road.

In the lead was a tall, burly Chinese man: 189. He shouted orders and waved the Dragons into two lines flanking him. The spectators scurried inside the bar and slammed the door, but faces instantly appeared at the windows. Bets changed hands as Louis made impromptu book.

Bean shook himself like a dog emerging from water and sent slugs scattering on the pavement. A quick move, hand to the waistband of his jacket, and before the Dragons were deployed, Bean flung his right hand around in an arc. Three throwing spikes sliced the air and hit their marks; three Dragons stumbled and grabbed at wounds to their legs, their Uzis clattering on the pavement.

The rest all aimed at Bean, who dodged behind a parked Buick Regal and drew a bowie knife. BRAAAP! BRAAAAP! The Buick's windows exploded, its tires sank, its doors sprang holes until they looked like cheese graters. BRAAAAAP! The firing died away as the clips emptied.

"Aw!" one of the customers complained in the bar. "They trashin' my car, man!"

"Check it," said 189 after a moment's silence. "Careful!" Four Dragons approached the Buick with drawn automatics and a wary manner. When they were still eight or ten feet away, trying to peer over the hood, something moved.

A hand grabbed the frame of the the blasted-out windshield and Bean vaulted over the car in one surge, knife in teeth and boots foremost. Two Dragons went down, kicked in the faces with Bean's full weight and momentum, and spit blood and teeth on the sidewalk.

The rest of the men began to respond, but compared to their opponent they seemed to react in slow motion. Bean landed in a crouch, grinning around the knife in his mouth, and slammed his palms to the sidewalk. Using his hands as a pivot, he lashed his body out in a swift spin, making an arcing sweep and knocking two more men's legs out from under them.

Dragons ran and aimed, but Bean kept low and tackled another man, who struck his head on the concrete. Disengaging himself with a boot in the man's face, he yanked the knife out of his teeth and sprang at 189, whose Uzi barked wildly, hitting sidewalk, cars, and the Blues Room's unlit neon sign.

But Bean was already inside 189's guard, hitting him chest to chest and snarl to snarl. At grappling range the gun was useless and the other Dragons were unable to shoot without endangering their leader. Bean's knife flashed in a feint. 189 dodged, letting out a yelp. He dropped the Uzi and wrestled with Bean, grabbing his wrist in both hands and trying to aim the bowie knife's point away from himself.

Sweat began to run down both men's faces. The outcome was inevitable, as 189 could not match Bean's power. Muscles giving way, the Dragon lost leverage with a gasp. Bean rammed the knife downwards through flesh and muscle and yanked it out with an ugly sucking sound.

"AHGGH!" A deep stab bleeding in the side of his chest, 189 yelled and pulled a stiletto. Only three Dragons remained unwounded and mobile; the whole fight had spanned perhaps forty seconds to date. Bean blocked 189's strike with his bloody bowie knife, then tossed it into the air and grabbed it again in his left hand. A lash of the right arm, and he held the switchblade, shooting out the blade. SNIK!

189 backed off a pace, breathing hard and obviously in pain, one hand pressed to his wound. Two fallen men raised themselves up and tried to aim automatics; Bean kicked one out of the gunman's grasp and hacked the other man's wrist almost halfway through with a left-handed chop.

His blood spouting, the unfortunate Dragon howled in agony, clutching his nearly severed hand into his stomach. 189 tried to slash Bean's arm at the same time and scarred his leather jacket to no avail, the chain mail deflecting the edge.

189 yelled in Cantonese. The unhurt men all jumped on Bean at once, forcing him to bend double, and one got a knife out. Bean twisted, his arm whipping backwards, and the man rolled off his back, bubbling through a slashed windpipe. 189 pressed his attack again, aiming for Bean's throat while two Dragons still clung to him, trying to knock him off balance and pull his head back by the hair. The switchblade knocked the stiletto aside and drove between two of 189's ribs. Bean let out an aroused growl and whipped the knife out.

189 screamed and staggered, blood soaking his shirt, and made a desperate gesture to the cars. "Get in! GO!"

Bean ran backwards, rammed his back up against the wall, losing one attacker on the way, and crushed the other man between the wall and his body before he could jump free. The man let go and fell, moaning.

Every Dragon who could move or crawl scrambled to the BMWs, 189 falling into a back seat with aid, and the cars roared away. With one more throwing spike through a passenger window, Bean nailed the last uninjured man in the face and grinned like an animal, sharp white teeth glinting in the sunlight. Eight Dragons out of the sixteen attackers lay writhing or unconscious, blood spreading on the sidewalk between the heaps of bodies.

"All finished? Shee-it." Bean shook his head, looking around inquiringly. "I ain't scarcely breathin' hard yet. Anybody still want to play?"

"Oh…God…" whimpered a Dragon. "Don't…kill…me…"

"Wimp." Bean cleaned his knives on a Dragon's coat and tucked them away in his jacket, then took out his keys and walked a few paces to his midnight-blue 1967 Corvette. A stray bullet had scarred the driver's door. "Aw, _man,"_ said Bean in real grief, and unlocked the car, examining the interior. Someone opened the door of the Blues Room and peered out. Several more heads appeared, and the customers gradually filed out, gawking at the scene.

"Look at the state of my sign," said Louis resignedly, picking up a bit of broken neon tube. Bean moved away from his car, rolled a few inert Dragons for their wallets and extracted several wads of bills. He stuffed them all into one wallet and tossed it to Louis, who caught it out of the air.

One man walked gingerly to a pay phone, avoiding the blood and moaning gangsters, and called 911, telling the operator to send several ambulances. "Whole gang bleedin' on the street. Yeah, big rumble. Buncha Chinese hoods versus a couple dozen other guys." He winked at Bean, who grinned and got into his car.

"Y'all come back now, y'hear?" said Louis, passing some money to the Buick's owner, and Bean gave him a thumbs-up before he started the Corvette's engine.

"I thought he looked like a fighter," remarked Marian, lighting one of the Marlboros as Bean peeled out and roared off west. "Though I guess he's a little better at it than my last husband…"

* * *

May swallowed hard and went on. "I knew who had set the fire and why they had done it, and I knew it was my fault. I knew the filthy Pearl Tigers had been trying to kill me, may demons shit on them in hell. I went straight to the police station, and I told them who I was and what I had been doing for the Triad. They arrested me.

"I told them all about the murders and the fire that killed my family, and they arrested some of the Pearl Tigers. They let them all go without punishment because they paid squeeze to the police and to the Party. I had no money, so I spent years in jail. The Pearl Tigers tried to have me killed there. They paid the guards to beat me and they paid the prisoners to pick fights with me. I fought back and they didn't kill me.

"Then the Red Guards took many prisoners out of jail during the Cultural Revolution and put us in work camps for reeducation. I worked in the kitchens and cooked for everyone. When I got out of the work camp in 1972, I came to America. I married my wife who came from China at the same time. I worked as a cook and I had a son and daughters.

"I opened my own restaurant. I named it Eight Dragon for good luck and the year of the Dragon. I did not know about the Eight Dragons from Macau. When those stinking sons of diseased whores got to America, they began to bother me because of my restaurant's name and because I was Chinese and making good money, with my son's help."

"_And_ daughters' help," put in Vanessa. "These masculine-centric assumptions…"

"My son is smart. He has a good education. I told him this story many times. He figured out ways to fool the Eight Dragons when he was younger than I was when I went to work for the Pearl Tigers. He asked me to let him do what he wanted about them, and I said all right. They stopped bothering us. I was glad my son was so smart.

"But when he was shot, I thought that the Triads were taking over everything the way they did in China. I didn't care about the restaurant. All I wanted was to keep my family safe. I lost my parents and my brothers and sisters to the Triads. I thought it might happen again, but you prevented this, Rally Vincent. I am grateful to the FBI for fighting the Triads, and I am grateful to you for helping the FBI. I wanted you to know this story so you would know why my son tried so hard to fight the Triads on his own. He is a good son."

"Gosh, Dad," said Larry, flushing. "Not like I've ever had to go through what you did."

"You've gone through plenty, and if your dad says so, it's so. Thank you, Mr. Sam," murmured Rally. Her heart felt full; this day felt like a shining jewel, a keepsake. She had made some good choices after all. Her crusade against the Dragons meant a great deal to this family at least; until now, she'd had no idea how much.

No amount of money would ever equal that knowledge, and combined with the light she still carried within her, the foggy day seemed as bright as any she had ever seen. "You have no idea what this means to me." Rally wiped tears from her eyes. "This is the whole reason I do what I do."

"I'm glad we could give you some validation," said Vanessa, then spoke to her father in Cantonese for a moment. "I'm beginning to realize what a tough job you have. I guess a lot of crap comes your way just because you can handle it."

"Yes, I'd have to say that was true!" What would be the next load of crap with her name on it? Rally tried to tamp down her rising joy; this was not over yet. Brown lurked somewhere in the background, his imagined smile at their confusion haunting her mind.

And although the FBI had descended on the Dragon HQ within thirty minutes after Smith had obtained the search warrant the previous day, nearly everything had already been cleared out when the agents arrived, and every Dragon had fled. 426 and his legions still held a deadly grudge against her and Bean, and now it was impossible to know where they were hiding and from what direction they would strike again.

This felt like the calm blue sky before the worst storm yet, the eye of a typhoon that approached from the east. She needed a break in the case, some kind of lightning flash of insight or new information that would part the cloudy mysteries, reveal the curling, elusive wisp of smoke that was the Dragon she chased. Only then could she truly say she had some chance of seeing another dawn in this quest. "I'm grateful I had the opportunity to help."

"And so are we, Miss Rally," said Smith, behind her. Rally turned with a smile, which lost a few degrees of warmth when Wesson came through the door as well. "I'm here to talk to Larry, naturally. All clear with the stickers?" The healer took the needles out of Larry's skin and discarded them, giving him a cup of brown liquid to drink.

"Bleah," said Larry, taking a drink of water after he had finished the herb tea. "It's got to be good for me, right?" He put on his pajama shirt and sat back. "Please have a seat, Agent Smith. Is this your partner?"

"Bob Wesson, meet Larry Sam." Hands were shaken all round, and Wesson got out a notebook. Smith gestured at Rally. "Bob, has O'Toole turned up in the morgue yet? I am not going to be easy in my mind until I see him on a slab!"

"No," said Wesson. "The cops who were following the chase didn't see him at the accident scene, though they saw the Kawasaki he'd been riding. A real mess, according to the police report." He looked at Rally with a reproving eye. "It seems someone had put a few nine-millimeter slugs into it."

"I told you that!"

"Somehow I don't recall that you admitted to blowing the gas tank. Did you do that on purpose?"

"I might not have emphasized that point, no. I did blow it on purpose, because O'Toole had tried to kill me and my partner earlier that day, and because he came very close to raping me in the garage, and because he was firing an awful lot of .45s at the bike and had just reloaded. I was getting a little tired of him, let's say."

Smith chuckled. "Heat of battle, under pursuit and under fire. Not something I have a big problem with, Miss Rally. Lay off, Bob."

"Thank you, Pete. Oh, yeah, Agent Wesson, speaking of slugs, _where is that ballistics report?" _

Wesson's eyes narrowed. "Not ready yet."

"They sure are taking their time on that, Bob," sighed Smith. "I thought I told the lab to put it on the front burner."

Rally wondered if she should just come out with it and tell Smith that the report exonerated her, but she could not put May at risk by doing so. Eventually the report would have to come to light—unless _both_ agents were hiding it from her!

The thought gave her pause. Wesson might have convinced Smith to keep it under wraps, or Smith himself might be the mastermind, as he was the senior agent. Somehow, however, she could no longer believe Smith capable of that sort of deceit. He was no actor, in any case. Wesson, on the other hand… Rally nodded to the Sams, who were preparing to leave, and picked up her purse, gesturing to the sacks of fruit. "Would you like me and May to help you carry all that out to your car, Vanessa?"

"Sure—" Vanessa broke off. "What's that!" Someone was shouting; scuffling feet scraped on the floor and a body or two fell against the wall. Rally whipped out her CZ75, aiming at the door in a crouch and bracing on a chair. Smith and Wesson leaped up and drew their ten-millimeters. The Sams screamed and huddled on the floor. "Oh, God! They're after Larry again!"

"May! Get ready—!" warned Rally. May reached for a flash-bang. Wesson backed up against Larry Sam's bed and held his pistol on the door.

"What's going on?" bellowed Smith. "Who's out there?"

For a panicked instant, Rally was positive it was Bean. No—he couldn't be so stupid—there were six FBI agents outside the door and a dozen policemen deployed around the parking lot! He'd be arrested—or shot! Was he here to warn her of something? Voices yelled out in the hallway.

"Agent Smith! It's—"

"I'm surrendering!" someone yelled. "I'm surrendering! Don't shoot!" A heavy Brooklyn nasal, a voice she had heard before.

"What? That sounds like Manichetti!" Rally hissed.

"Huh?" Smith stared at her for a moment, then addressed the agents outside again. "Who is it?"

"We've got him pinned, sir! It's Brown's driver, and he's armed!"

"I got it—" shouted another agent outside. "Check him for a backup gun!"

"I ain't here to fight nobody!" yelled Manichetti in a strangled voice. "I gotta see Agent Smith and Wesson! I…need help! …Please!" Smith yanked the door open and aimed his pistol at someone on the floor.

"What the hell? What's this all about?" Smith yelled. Rally followed him, CZ75 ready. "Get him cuffed, dammit!" Over his shoulder, she could see Manichetti held down by three agents, his face pressed into the floor. She slipped out and checked the hallway and waiting room. Visitors scattered, shrieking, and a nurse scrambled under her desk.

"Watch it!" said Rally. "He could be a decoy! There may be some Dragons about!" Rally scanned around and snapped her pistol from side to side, heart pounding. Nothing. Several agents spread out and ran along the hallways in each direction, and she ducked back into the room.

She and Wesson stood guard over Larry while Vanessa brandished oranges in each hand, apparently ready to do fierce battle with any intruder. Despite the shouting and the feet pounding along the corridor, no threat materialized.

A few minutes later, Smith came in, holstering his pistol. "Crap. Well, they got away, if anyone came with him. Mr. and Mrs. Sam, you better go home with your daughters. Escort's waiting for you." Larry's family left, pale and apprehensive, FBI agents flanking them.

Rally helped Vanessa with the fruit and glanced at Manichetti as she accompanied the Sams to the elevator. The agents had cuffed him and sat him up in a lobby chair, his clothes disarranged and his nose bleeding. When he saw her, he let out a piteous groan, jowls quivering.

"Rally Vincent! You got to make them listen to me! For God's sake—"

"Keep your mouth shut!" snapped Smith.

Rally saw the Sams off and returned to Smith. "What's he _doing_ here?"

"Says he wants our help. The FBI's his last hope or something, and he wanted me and my partner, since we know him." Smith rolled his eyes. "Naturally, his broad butt is now under arrest. I thought you'd like to ask him a few questions before we put him in a cell."

"Yes, I think I would! Like, where's O'Toole? Someone must have picked him up before the cops got there, dead or alive! Did you help him out again, Manichetti?"

"No." He looked just as bad as he had the night at the pier; grey-faced, despairing. "He went back to the Dragons. I ain't seen him since yesterday, one P.M. A little after he tried to whack you and your kid partner. I got a doctor for him and then I threw him outta the house."

"Oh, did you? When you'd just run interference for him in an attempted murder? You're his co-conspirator! I saw you plain as day in that Range Rover, you bastard! Is he still alive? You're hiding him somewhere! Oh, and while I'm on that subject—where the hell is BROWN!"

Manichetti looked startled, his chest heaving with agitated breaths. "He's dead. You know that. Look, you got to listen—"

"The hell I do. He's alive, isn't he! Talk!"

"N-no, he's dead. He burned to death in the—"

"No way." Rally and Smith exchanged a look. "O'Toole blew a hole in the concrete floor as an escape hatch. You got Brown in a boat and sailed off, didn't you?" Manichetti's eyes went wide; she was positive she had hit the truth. "Where did you take him?"

"Uh…" Manichetti looked at the floor.

"I'm sure Sergeant Smith will hammer it out of you eventually!" Rally rubbed her hands. "I'll help!"

One of the agents who had been on guard came over to Smith with a brown paper bag. "Here's what we got off him, sir. .40 caliber Beretta, cigarettes, some hotel receipts in his wallet. And there's a jewelry box."

"Hum," said Smith, looking in the bag.

"Jewelry box?" said Rally. "What kind of jewelry box?"

Smith pulled it out. "Here you go." It was small and square, red satin with gold-stamped Chinese characters, stained and discolored.

"What…the…!" Rally took it and turned it over, opening it to find it empty. "I've seen this box. This had a pair of earrings in it! This is the box for the earrings Brown gave me! I gave them back to him at the pier and he put this in his pants pocket! He was hit in the leg—these are bloodstains!" She snapped the box shut and glared at Manichetti. "This PROVES it! Brown got out! There is NO way you could have this unless he did! SO TALK!"

"I'm gonna tell you everything I know," said Manichetti, voice trembling. "All of it, beginning to end! But not now! It can't wait even one hour! You got to help me first!"

"What could be that important? I think you ought to rake him over the coals, Pete! He helped O'Toole get away after attacking me and May! He doesn't deserve—"

"There's two lives ridin' on it, lady!" Manichetti blurted out. "Mrs. Brown and the girl—a four-year-old kid! PLEASE!" He nearly sobbed the last.

"Brown's family? Where are THEY?"

"426 got 'em," whispered Manichetti. "About an hour ago. I wasn't gone ten minutes—I came back with some take-out for lunch and— You got to help me! God, help me!" He burst into tears.

"Woah. 426?"

"You saw him, right? You know something about him?"

"Yes. Do you mean he's going to kill them? A little girl and her mother? Is he that much of a—" Rally broke off. "Yes, he is. I know it. Oh, man."

"I'd've found the bodies in the room if that was all he had in mind," wept Manichetti, tears and blood dripping from his nose. "I'd be dead too. He took 'em away and he left me alive to tell the tale. That means he's got something else up his sleeve!"

"Like…drawing Brown out of hiding?" Rally snapped her fingers. "426's looking for Brown too! That might be why he let O'Toole join up with the Dragons!"

"Yeah," said Smith. "That would be a good angle. O'Toole can't keep his stupid mouth shut about anything; he must have known the escape plot. He's told 426 all about it. If 426 has the kid, he can really rake Brown over the coals. So to speak. I know he's nuts about his daughter. Passes out pictures of her everywhere."

"Yes, but O'Toole seems to have believed that Brown's dead." Rally looked at Smith. "Would 426 have any proof that he's alive? It may be only a suspicion on his part, unless he has independent confirmation. "

"I guess he's got a suspicion," said Manichetti, looking even greyer. "But he's wrong and so are you guys. Brown's dead. No question of his comin' back. If that's the only way to get 426 to show his hand, the girls are… _dead_."

He hung his head and cried. "You gotta believe me…I'd do anything for 'em! I'm the one pulled 'em from the house! I'm the one's taken care of 'em since! It wasn't Brown! I never gave a shit about Brown!" He flung his head up, teeth gritted and eyes red. "I hated his guts, see? Don'tcha think I'd tell you if he was alive? I'd hand him over to the Dragons without a THOUGHT!"

"Sheesh," said Smith. "What do you think, Miss Rally?"

"You know what, Pete? Let's take this guy for a ride downtown, hmm? I have the feeling he's telling the truth, about Brown's family at least. I have an idea." Wesson came out of Larry Sam's hospital room, and Rally glanced at him; six-one, trim, brown-haired and light-eyed, with regular features. "Yeah, I think it just might work!"

* * *

"Where is he going to keep them? The Dragon HQ is chock full of FBI agents. Not that we got much. They knew they'd been fingered, and the last truck was leaving just as we got all the red tape together and moved in."

"I dunno where," said Manichetti, slumped in a chair in Smith's office. "Tom might've put them on to some of Brown's places…" His brow creased in thought. "I know they got warehouses all around the Bay Area. None of 'em would be a good spot for keeping hostages. Nothing soundproof. But…one of the houses. He had a place on Nob Hill—Brown did—and there was a big basement. Old place, built right after the '06 quake, and built tight. If you had someone in that basement, you could keep 'em quiet." He looked around. "It's a guess."

"Address?" said Smith, picking up a phone.

"Here." Manichetti got up and pointed to a map of the city on the office wall. "Pacific Avenue. Fancy old place, white with all the gingerbread trim. Mrs. Brown liked it, but he told her she had to stay in L.A. No one's there now, unless the Dragons are."

"Undercover agents will check it out first," said Smith. "Pizza delivery to the wrong house, or something like that. They'll find out if there's anyone hiding there. A rescue is going to be dicey if that's where the hostages are. We can't roll a whole battalion in there without attracting attention. A small handpicked group, or nothing."

"That sounds like a hint," said Rally.

"I suppose it is. I'd appreciate it if you'd help us out here, Miss Rally."

"Do I actually have a choice?"

"I guess so," said Smith, rolling his eyes. "I don't want any deadweight on this operation!" He and Wesson got on the phone and began to deliver instructions.

Manichetti turned to Rally, a little diffidently. "I know you got a grudge on me, Miss. I don't blame you none for that. But I got to tell you, I kicked Tom outta the house right after the doc got him fixed up from the jaw. I didn't like him any and he'd said some things that let me know I had to get him out of there where the girls were. He had a real problem with anything female."

"Oh, no shit?"

"I ain't got that problem, Miss." He put up his hands as if to ward off her anger. "Kind of the opposite, if you get my drift. This ain't going to wash comin' from me, but I didn't want him going after you and your friend. I helped him so he'd help me, and it turned out I didn't want his help at any price. I'm real sorry he got on your bad side, and if he's dead, I'll say I ain't going to cry."

"He's the one who put the Dragons on to Sarah and Tiffany Brown," replied Rally, smiling faintly. "Of course you don't like him."

"Yeah, I know. I'd've killed him for that myself if I'd had the chance, and…I ain't a killer. I'm just a driver."

"I think I heard someone else say that," murmured Rally.

"Driver?" barked Smith into his phone. "My elbow's still too damn stiff! No, I don't know who's good enough for—look, since the Dragons don't balk at high-speed pursuits, the getaway is going to be the linchpin of the whole operation! Now you listen to me—"

"Please help me, Miss," said Manichetti. "I know you're good at what you do. I'm grateful the FBI's doing something…" He lowered his voice. "But _you_ don't work in no office building. I reckon you got the right stuff, if Bandit's so keen on you. There ain't nothin' I wouldn't do to make sure the girls come out've this alive and well. I'd surely appreciate it if you'd say you'll help me—"

"I am getting a little tired of everyone announcing how Bean feels about me, too," said Rally.

"Sorry, Miss. But you made up with him or something? I heard about Bandit makin' a mess in Frisco, but I didn't know he'd saved your bacon 'til you said so. It don't surprise me none that Tom was aimin' to do bad stuff to you. I can tell you that he planted that cash in your trunk. He's good with locks. Brown had him do it while you and Bandit were talking with him at the pier. He sent Tom out—"

"What? The money was right there at the pier—oh." Rally smiled in realization. "That's why Bean said 'a whole mil'. The Dragons gave Brown one million dollars in cash to bait the trap with. Half a million in one suitcase and half a million in the other! But I thought the suitcase was the same one!"

"Handle shot off, you mean? No, there were two of those, too. It was all fixed up before you ever got to the pier."

"O'Toole figured he'd shoot it out of someone's hand ahead of time? The arrogant little shit!"

"He was good, Miss. If you killed him, you done good in more ways'n one."

"Thank you." Rally started to feel a sense of smug superiority. Then she remembered how she had performed that particular killing, and looked away. Perhaps it had been legally justifiable. The abject panic on O'Toole's face a moment before the explosion still bothered her. "So what happened to the _other_ half million? The cash I saw at the pier? It wasn't in the office, and O'Toole had Brown on his hands."

"If I tell you that," said Manichetti in a whisper, glancing at the agents and drawing her aside, "will you say you'll help me personal? I know where it is, and if Tom's dead, I'm the only one on this earth who does. No one'd know you got away with—"

"Mr. Manichetti," said Rally crisply, "I would prefer you to tell Agent Smith where it is. Since he asked me to help, I'm helping. I don't do things like that for _drug money."_

Manichetti raised his brows, eyes widening. "OK. Guess I should've known. A woman that wouldn't fall for Sly Brown on one of his better days wouldn't go for that."

"Don't look so impressed. I'm as mercenary as they come. I got myself into this looking for a hundred-thousand dollar reward." Rally winked at him. "I do know someone, however, who does not work in an office building either, and has the right stuff for an operation like this. If I asked him, he'd help out, or I'd know the reason why."

Manichetti looked blank for a moment, but an instant later a smile spread slowly across his broad face. "Thank you, Miss. I reckon he'd owe you a few dozen freebies, wouldn't he? I'll take you up on that offer." He extended a hand and Rally shook it briefly. "That's decent of ya."

"This could be a little hazardous, though," muttered Rally to herself. "Not just to me…" She walked over to Smith, who was talking to Wesson and issuing orders into his phone at the same time, and touched his shoulder. "Pete, could I talk to you in private for a moment?"

Smith looked up with an impatient bark. "What? I'm a little busy right now!"

"Keep it down," said Wesson with a hand over the receiver. "Some of us are working."

"This is kind of personal," Rally whispered. She tried to give Smith a message with her eyes, but was mindful of Wesson's presence.

"All right, all right—you ladies are so dainty sometimes," grumbled Smith. "Time of the month coming up? Conference room." He got up.

"Pete," said Wesson, sifting through the folders on his partner's desk. "I think I misplaced something. You have the, uh, the RB folder?"

"No, you have it."

"I can't find it. It was right on my desk, I know. Yesterday, I thought."

"You think I have some idea what you did with it? Look in the can or wherever you do your reading. What do you want it for, anyway?"

"Um…recent developments." Wesson's eyes flickered at Rally.

Smith snorted. "I'd say recent developments made that folder obsolete. If you find it, file and forget." He beckoned Rally out the door. "OK, girl, what's so delicate you can't talk about it in front of my own partner?"

"Not until we're in another room with the door closed." Smith grunted and continued down the hall to the conference room.

Rally shut the door and stood against it. "It's about Bean."

"Yes?" Smith put a hand on the back of a chair.

"I saw him today. This morning, before I came here."

"No shit."

"He…he wanted me to forgive him. For thinking I had planned to cheat him, and all that. He told me why he'd thought that, and it made sense to me, at least enough sense, and I told him I forgave him."

Smith's expression had gone guarded. "That a fact?" He looked out the window. "Where was this?"

"In a parking lot. He followed me on that same black Harley, which I guess he's commandeered for now. I wouldn't get out of my car for a while."

"I see." He glanced back into the room and seemed to make a mental note. "So why tell me?"

"Pete, I think I can trust you with this. Please consider what I'm doing when I say this only to you and not to Wesson. OK?"

"OK. I'll consider it."

"If Bean were to show up… and help me out again, or even help _you_ out, would you feel it necessary to arrest him?"

Smith's face changed. "You think he's going to do that?"

"If I asked him, I feel sure he would." Rally gave him a serious look. "I want the mother and the girl out of 426's hands as much as anyone does. Just as you said, the getaway is going to be crucial, and we're likely to come under fire in the process. I don't know anyone better suited to a job like that, and I think you know what I mean."

"You are right about that. But you are talking about the FBI here! You want to recruit _Bean Bandit_ for a Justice Department operation, and you want my OK? You realize what you're saying?"

"Uh-huh. But he's already involved, and…well, I have my reasons. Will you consider it?"

Smith chewed his lip and seemed to mull over his options. "I guess you realize that getting Bean into the Eight Dragon Triad is, A, not possible any more, and, B, not even necessary now that we have Larry Sam. The FBI has no pressing reason to nab him, except for the minor point that he assaulted four agents…and a cop…and resisted arrest. The SFPD has all the reason in the world. If he and that red car show up again within a hundred miles of Baghdad-by-the-Bay, he will be nailed to the wall."

"But you are not a San Francisco cop."

"No. Who _I_ am is not the only question here. Who Bean is, on the other hand…" Smith looked at his elbow, still wrapped in an elastic bandage, and tenderly massaged it.

"Would you like to talk to him? Face to face? I got the feeling that you want to, and I think I can set it up. Would that reassure you?"

"_Reassure_ me? Face to face with that man? I don't think reassurance would be the dominant emotion in the room, girl!" Smith looked ruefully amused. "OK, you're intriguing me. I get the picture. You want to prove something to me, such as: Bean's nothing near as bad as the Dragons, and that I should let him slip out of my net as long as I can get my hands on 426."

"Something like that."

"Very intriguing. I'm afraid I will have to say something to my partner about this, though."

"Oh."

"Not about meeting with Bean, not before it happens. I get your point. But about not running over and arresting him on the spot if he shows up somewhere. That I can sell on pragmatic grounds. I don't think Bob wants a matching slash on the other cheek!" Smith grinned.

"I think his vanity's been wounded…and Pete, will you do me a favor? That ballistics report. I am crawling up the walls not having a copy yet. Could you please investigate what's going on with that?"

"Sure. I want to see it myself. That all, Miss Rally?"

"That's all. Thank you."

"You are lucky I am a practical man," said Smith, chuckling. "Telling little white fibs of omission to his own partner, no matter how squirrelly he's gotten over the last day or so, is not something an FBI agent does in the normal course of things. But for you, girl, I am willing to bend some principles for a few hours."

"Thank you, Pete," said Rally, genuinely pleased. "You're OK, you know that?"

"No more 'chauvinist pig asshole', hey? OK, I was a jerk, and you were right about the airport. Where Bean is concerned, you know prophet, chapter and verse."

"Huh?" Rally cast around. "I, I never called you—"

"Not to my face, hon." He smiled some more and headed out into the hallway.

"What the hell?" said Rally to herself. "Did I forget to turn the radio off?" No, she was sure she had. "How did he know I said—" He'd asked where her conversation with Bean had taken place. "Oh, no." If that was true, she was going to kill him—but he'd hinted, hadn't he? A warning?

"OK, Pete. Thanks again," Rally murmured, and followed Smith back to his office. There, Wesson was taking notes while Manichetti talked.

"You set up what you feel you need to set up, Miss Rally," said Smith. "You have any more ideas before you run along? Like, the one you mentioned in the hospital?"

Wesson looked up. "Pete, she can't go yet." He made a little circular motion in the air with one finger.

"No, I think she ought to go now," said Smith casually, half winking at Rally, who took the implication. Wesson picked up the phone. "Put that down, Bob. Listen up. I want to tell you something. If you happen to spot Bean Bandit any time soon, keep your trap shut and your pistol in the holster. It's in our interest to keep him on the loose right now, so don't go calling every agency in the Bay Area, hmm?"

"What?" Wesson glanced back and forth at Smith and Rally, obviously confused, but with a sense of dawning suspicion as well. "Is that wise?"

"I don't know if it's wise, but it's what we're going to do, Agent."

"Uh…yes, sir. I guess we'll get him sooner or later."

"Yeah, someone will." Smith smirked at Rally over Wesson's head. "So, that brainstorm?"

"Yes," said Rally, looking down at Wesson. "We need someone to play Brown."

"Huh?"

"If 426 issues a challenge to Brown to come get his family, it could be very useful if we had someone who looked enough like him to be a decoy."

"Hey. No kidding. We will get on that right away—let's see, which agent in the Frisco office looks the most like Sly Brown?" Smith, Manichetti, and Rally all looked straight at Wesson.

"What?" said Wesson, pushing his glasses up. "I don't look anything like—"

"Same height, about," said Rally. "Give him one-inch lifts. Same age, sort of similar build—shoulder pads. Highlight his hair and style it—too bad it's a little short, but I think Brown's real hair color would have to be about the same as his. Turquoise contacts and a bit of putty to straighten the bridge of his nose."

"Whoa." Wesson stood, looking slightly panicked. "I'm not an undercover specialist—"

"You won't have to do much, I think. Just stand there and look pretty. May could help you with that if the FBI makeup artists aren't up to it. Hmm—tan makeup to cover the shiner and the cut, and be sure he gets a plastic cast on the right hand. Manichetti can check off on him when it's done. Spend enough on the clothes and the shoes, and you got yourself a slick Hollywood drug dealer, at least at a distance."

"She's pegged it, Bob," said Smith. "You are on decoy duty."

"Highlights?" said Wesson ruefully. "Blonde highlights?" Rally snickered to herself and slipped out of the room.

* * *

"Bean? It's me."

"Huh? Ral—uh, Vincent?"

"I know, you're surprised I'd call you. This isn't a personal matter—I need to ask you a professional favor. Several favors. I want to know if you're willing to work with me for a little while longer."

A brief silence. "You tell me what it is, it's done. On the house. You know that."

"Thank you, Bean. I want you to talk to an FBI agent."

"What?"

"He's told me he's not interested in arresting you. It's only one, anyway, and he already knows you aren't easy to arrest."

"No, I ain't easy to arrest. Where and when?"

"The eastern end of the park. I'll meet you near the band shell, between the museum and the Academy of Sciences." Rally looked around her. "There's a round fountain in a sunken plaza, and it's pretty clear—just plane trees set far apart and roads on all sides, so you can check out the area before you approach. The fog's mostly gone, this far inland."

"Thanks, Vincent, but…I trust ya."

Rally felt another deep twinge, briefly closing her eyes. By contacting Bean, she was inviting one of the dangers she had mentioned to Larry Sam. Perhaps this hadn't been the best idea she'd had all day, but she was committed now. "Um…We'll be there in fifteen minutes—actually, I'm already here, right by the fountain. I just have to call him."

"Got it. Can I get some idea what this's about?"

"He only wants to shoot the breeze with you for a little while. Get some idea of what makes you tick. Basically, he wants to know if he can trust you. Though I get the idea that he's inclined to do so anyway."

"An FBI agent trust me? Which one of 'em is it?"

"Smith."

She heard a deep laugh. "All right, Smith. Whoo…that's funny."

"Must be. Why?"

"Oh, I dunno." Bean chuckled again. "He sure did want to arrest me bad, yesterday. I reckon you heard about that."

"Uh-huh. A little, though not nearly enough—I am going to have to ask Roy to give me the whole story." She doubted that Bean would tell her such a tale with any particularity. "Say, why did you cut Wesson on the face? I've been curious."

"Wesson? The snide asshole in specs? Eh. Looked like he needed it."

"You are a judge of character, I think. Most of the time. Why did you try to cut _me_ on the face, Bean?"

"Oh, woman… If ya want to talk personal, least let me see you while you stick in the knives."

"All right, I will. One of these days I will grill you over a slow fire to get every last gory detail out of your twisted psyche. I think you and Smith are going to get along just fine. I'll expect you."

Rally clicked off and checked her watch, then called Smith. In about five minutes, she heard a deep, distinctively rumbling motorcycle engine note approaching from the east, and heard it cut out in the parking area at that end of the museum. She sat on the wide rim of the fountain and deliberately turned her face to the opposite direction. Watching Bean walk toward her, wondering whether to meet his eyes from a distance, was not something she felt up to at this moment.

In point of fact, as she heard a long boot-shod stride descend the granite stairs and approach, her heart began to beat rapidly and her hands to twitch. The pit of her stomach contracted, but fear wasn't the emotion; her face began to grow hot. She'd forgiven Bean for believing she was a thief, and part of the barrier between them had vanished, though by no means all.

Even before it had started to crumble, she'd had the sense that neither of them could do anything about their inclinations. He had said that he knew she didn't want him. Was she as sure about that as he was? Why _had_ she given him a tease in Buttonkettle? Why _had_ she jumped at him in the car? Rally concentrated on controlling her breathing until the steps halted a few feet away, and she turned to look into Bean's face. "That was fast."

"I wasn't too far away." His expression quiet and still, only his eyes alive. He scanned the trees and the roads above with a wary glance. "I'm kinda keepin' track of where ya go, since 426's layin' for you."

"Oh." Rally patted the fountain rim at arm's length. Bean looked down but didn't sit as she had invited; he put one foot up a yard and a half from her and leaned into it, peering down into the green-brown water. "Thanks for coming."

"Yeah, I'm here. Anything you need." This matter-of-fact, but with an inflection of grave earnest.

_'Any way you want it…'_ Rally took a deep involuntary breath and crossed her legs. "It's about Brown's family." Bean made an inquiring grunt and she went on. "Manichetti showed up at the hospital where Smith and Wesson and I were visiting Larry Sam. He begged for our help. Apparently he had the family under his protection, and 426 kidnapped them. Larry's told us a lot about 426, by the way. I don't know how much you've heard about him, but I guess you know he's the chief assassin."

"Yeah, I saw him in Vegas."

"Did you?"

"He's the one told me the Dragons were missing one million bucks."

"How'd you react to that, Bean?"

He met her eyes, forearms resting on his upraised knee. "I got mad."

"Is that why they thought you were going to join the Triad?"

"Uh-huh." He looked away.

"All right, this isn't the time or place for interrogating you. I will do that, make no mistake about it, but not now." Rally shifted, hoping her disturbance at Bean's proximity would subside. "This is business. 426 has Brown's wife and little girl. He's going to try to draw Brown out of hiding, we think. So we're going to take advantage of that if we can, and—"

"Hiding? What hiding? The man's dead!" Bean turned to her, brows going down.

"We don't think so any more. There's a trap door blown in the concrete floor of the pier. Manichetti had the box from the earrings I gave back to Brown. 426 went to the trouble to capture the family, so he must have come to the same conclusions as we have. At any rate, we may need your help to get the mother and child out of 426's clutches. It will have to be a tight operation with only a few people, and we will have to get the hostages clear as fast as possible. Obviously this brought you to mind. I proposed it to Smith, and he's considering it, which is why he wants to talk to you."

"OK, you lost me somewhere there. Brown's alive?"

"He certainly got out of that warehouse alive. There is no way he burned to death."

"Shee-it." Bean jutted his jaw. "So why'd he yell like that? For fun? To get yer goat?"

"Manichetti still maintains that he's dead, but yes, that's the best guess I have, and for Brown, it makes sense. He wanted to play with my head, I suppose, and he accomplished that. In spades." Though she doubted he had ever predicted it would drive her straight into Bean's arms…

Bean's boot hit the ground with a crash. "I'll kill him for you, Vincent. No charge!"

"My sentiments exactly." Rally smiled tightly. "I'm glad you held me back when I tried to get to him." She looked at the faded bruises on her wrists.

Bean passed a hand over his face. "Oh, woman, don't remind me I slugged you. It ain't easy sleepin' these days."

"It isn't?"

"You think I can rest knowin' what I was goin' to do to you and the squirt? I don't know why I didn't get it done, 'cause I sure meant to. I see me crashin' Buff into yer Cobra and I wake up—" He broke off. "It's nothin' but dumb luck that's lettin' me talk to you now. Luck or…something else."

"Oh? I didn't have the impression you really wanted to kill me, Bean. Not when you had me against the fence—if you had truly meant to stab me, you would have done it." Rally shifted again, uncrossing her legs. "On the other hand, when you got that switchblade close, I thought —"

Bean sagged, eyes closing. "Yeah. That was the idea. Cut your face."

"You'd do that to a woman? Give her a scar like yours? What on earth gave you the right—!"

"It was a woman put this one on me, babe!" He stopped and gritted his teeth. "I ain't saying that was a good thing to try to do. I did you a lot of wrong that day."

"No shit! What was the reason for that? A woman cut you and you have a grudge against anything female? You'd fix it so no other man would look at me, or some similar piece of macho crap? Make me _match_ you or something?" Rally jumped up and stalked away a few paces, turning her back on Bean.

He sighed. "Not like that. The gal put this on me, you remind me of her sometimes. Tough broad."

"Who was that? A woman who could slice _your_ face?"

"You never met her. Before your time. I used to do jobs for her years ago. Before I went into business on my own. She'd call me, I'd fetch and carry. Not a big-time operation, but well put together. She taught me a lot. On the job and…off."

"An old lover? Can't imagine why she'd want to cut you up!" Rally knew she was shaking visibly. Oh, this had NOT been a good idea…

"Not like a girlfriend."

"Excuse me?

"Yeah, well, she cornered me one day and I didn't know how to say no to a woman who came on strong. Still got a problem there, I guess." Rally heard his boot scuff the crushed-stone pavement. "I was a kid—sixteen, seventeen—and she was the boss. Lot older'n me, but a looker, so I didn't mind so much. She'd get horny a lot and…well. It was pretty educational, I guess, but I wouldn't call her a sweetheart. Kind of a user, y'know?"

Good God. Bean Bandit was actually telling her some of his _history_! Rally turned around to look at him again. Hands in jeans pockets, eyes bent on the ground. Was he offering to trust her with some of the contents of his head, beyond what she had forced him to admit in exchange for forgiveness? Extraordinary—surprisingly touching; her anger and agitation began to dissipate like the lifting fog. "So why did she scar your face?"

He smiled crookedly to himself. "I got a little cocky. I was young, you know? Thought I'd make some extra on the side and that she'd never blame it on me 'cause I was screwin' her. She had some other boys that worked for her like I did. I saw a car that belonged to one of the guys, big delivery on board, and I jacked it. Took the shipment and sold it to the wrong buyer. Walked into her garage a couple days later, all cool and innocent-like, and right off I knew I'd made a _big_ mistake. All the guys were waitin'. They grabbed me and spread-eagled me, and the boss strolled up with a blade. Smiled at me real sweet. Told me she'd teach me to steal."

"Oh."

"The guys held me down and she cut that on me." Bean made an X in the air, tracing the scar. "One, two. Didn't hesitate a second, no matter how many times she'd got me into bed."

"God. What did you do?"

"Yelled my head off. It hurt like hell."

"Uh…well, I figured that part."

"She said it would be my balls next time. They tossed me out on my ass and told me not to come back. She was bein' nice, frankly, 'cause she could have just killed me. Thought I was worth saving, I guess, so I was kind've grateful."

"Grateful?"

"Yeah. You know what? Every time I look in the mirror, I know it's up to me to keep my own word. I learned that lesson good. If a man don't keep his word, he's nothin' but scum, and he deserves whatever the hell he gets."

"So you _thanked_ her for it? Did you think _I_ was going to thank you for it?"

"Not exactly." Bean grimaced. "I didn't thank her for it neither, and in my case, I was guilty."

"I'm not sure I want to know this…"

"Went up against her gang about a year later. The whole bunch dry-gulched me in an alley, but I was ready this time. I laid 'em all out flat and it was just her and me." He smiled tightly. "Yeah, I killed her. Fair fight, Vincent. I got cut up some and I got a lucky shot on her, or I'd not be talkin' to you. She was a mean hand with a knife. Taught me a lot of what I know."

"I see. You don't mind killing a woman, even if she's someone you've slept with, as long as she's the kind who can fight you. I guess that shouldn't be a surprise."

Bean shrugged. "Why a surprise? I've figured more'n once you were gonna do me, and I wasn't going to cut you no slack for not havin' a—uh, for not being a guy. If I got killed by a broad, or killed by a guy, I'd be just as dead either way, wouldn't I?"

"Well—"

"It ain't according to the rules, anyway. You want to play in the game, babe, you play in the game."

"In some bizarre sense, that was a feminist statement."

"Aw, hell. You knew Goldie, for chrissake. I ain't so sure I'd've come through with all my parts intact one-on-one with that dame. If some bum like me thought he'd take a handicap versus _her_ just 'cause she was a woman, she'd've upholstered a couch with his hide. I reckon you're about the same."

"That's probably one of the better compliments you've ever paid me, notwithstanding the comparison to Goldie." Rally smiled ironically. "All right, I give you a specific pardon for _that_ offense. We may yet work through the entire list."

"I don't mind tryin'." He gave her a slight returning smile. Over his shoulder, Rally saw Agent Smith disembarking from a Yellow Cab on the road above. Instantly Bean caught her gaze. "What is it?"

"Smith's here." Rally nodded at him, and Bean turned around to look. Smith actually flinched, though he was still thirty yards away. Rally covered her lips for a moment to hide her suppressed laugh. "Don't scare him too bad, Bean."

"Who, me?"

Smith slowly descended the steps and came closer through the plane trees, making a palms-out gesture. "Flag of truce, Bandit. Right?"

"Right," replied Bean, keeping his hands in his pockets.

"OK…so, Miss Rally here says you may be willing to help extract Sarah and Tiffany Brown from the Dragons." Smith stopped two arm's lengths away. "Is that true? You still have a problem with Brown, I assume."

"I don't care who the client is, dude." Bean shrugged. "Vincent's got my marker, she's askin' me, I'm on board. That's all."

Smith took a glance at Rally, his eyes saying much. "Good to hear it, though I might ask for a little more enthusiasm for the operation. How about the FBI? You have a grudge from yesterday?"

"I wasn't the one got that bump on the head, Smith."

"No, you weren't." Smith rubbed his fading bruise. "It was a fair fight, Bandit. I suppose I'd have done the same in your place."

Bean smiled.

"Yeah, if I could take on four armed agents…and a Chicago cop…while handcuffed, with nothing but a bowie knife and a bad attitude. So, Miss Rally, have you two worked out any plans yet?"

"Uh…no, we weren't discussing tactics." Rally flushed slightly, which Smith did not seem to miss. "I do have some thoughts. Mostly along the lines of employing Bean as the getaway driver, of course. Once the hostages are in a car _he's_ driving, they are home free." Bean raised his brows slightly, obviously gratified that she would say so to his face, but taking the compliment for granted at the same time.

"Hum. Bandit, you have that armored car handy? Buff?"

"No, I shipped Buff out've the Bay Area. Take a day or two to get it back. The one I'm drivin' right now is a 'Vette, so it wouldn't do—no back seat. It's likely I'll have someone riding shotgun along with the two gals?" He looked at Rally, who nodded. "I reckon the Dragons know your Cobra, too, so that's no good either."

"Well," said Smith. "I don't know about loaning _you_ a Bu-car, but I've got enough seniority to swing it, _if_ I thought it was the right thing to do."

"Me, drive a Fed car?" Bean chuckled. "With a smog choke and a slushbox? I'll just lift—well, I'll get somethin'."

"Slushbox?" Smith looked offended. "Hell, no. I stocked that garage myself! There's a few confiscated vehicles we use for undercover operations, and plenty of brand-new horsepower. What do you have in mind?"

"You offering?"

"I suppose I am." Smith threw up his hands. "Miss Rally, I bet you knew I'd do something like this all along. Damn, I'm standing here offering the _Roadbuster_ an unsecured loan of United States Government property! Good thing I'm retiring in four months, because I think I just lost my frigging mind!"

"My lips are sealed." She covered a smile again.

"Well, if yer offering," Bean mused, "I reckon somethin' with a steel body and at least three hundred ponies, that you don't mind gettin' a little dinged up. Anything?"

Smith seemed to make a mental inventory. "Let's see—no, that's a two-seater—hey." The agent grinned. "'69 Charger. Four seats, steel body, and this baby's a Hemi. Just got it off a dope runner down in San Jose, and she needs a paint job anyway."

"Hemi, hey?" Bean nodded in approval. "How's she running?"

"Like a kitten. Shifts a little rough and I think I could stand to do a brake job—she's got front discs and the calipers are original. Other than that, she's cherry."

"Rockin'. Hey, I got me a '68 Charger at home. 440 six-pack, but I got a '70 'Cuda with the Hemi."

"Oh, no shit?" Smith's face lit up. "I had a '70 'Cuda right out've the police academy! Wrapped it around a friggin' tree in '74." His accent began to slip into Georgia drawl.

"Shit, that's a heartbreaker. I'm takin' extra-special care of mine. Heated it up some, but it was a kick-ass engine anyway, naturally. Five hundred and twenty to the ground, easy, though ya got to fill her up every mile and a half, I swear."

"No shit—no friggin' LEVs back then! Dynoed that sucker at…" Bean and Smith traded engine displacements, foot-pounds and model years back and forth for a few minutes, stepping on imaginary clutches and making rumbling noises. Rally listened with half-concealed amusement, letting them find their common ground. All a man really needed to know about another was whether he played with the right toys…

"So have we settled this?" she asked when both eventually paused for breath. "Bean borrows a car from you and we set up the rescue? Have the agents checking out the Pacific Avenue house reported back?"

"Yes, they have," said Smith. "Someone's in there, all right. Staying low and not using the utilities so they don't give themselves away—the meters are all stock still. But the surveillance team has a parabolic mike trained on the basement window, and there are conversations going on…not intelligible, but they were almost positive they heard a child's voice. The kid's being held there, at least."

"There you go, Bean. A kid's in danger. You've got some motivation for this other than my request!"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Brown's kid, yeah. Guess she can't help havin' a cocksuckin' SOB for a daddy."

"You goddamn iceberg…" Rally muttered under her breath. Smith's cell phone rang, and he took it out, pulling up the antenna.

"Smith." He listened for a moment. "OK. Yeah, she's with me. We're talking tactics right now. We'll get back to the Federal Building as soon as we can." He clicked off and looked at both of them. "That was my partner. No more time to screw around, Miss Rally. 426 has issued his challenge."


	16. Chapter 16

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Sixteen**

"Oh, May! You have surpassed yourself! He's _gorgeous_!"

"Am I a makeup artist, or what?" giggled May. "The FBI disguise expert was SO impressed!" She washed her hands in the conference room's bar sink. "Manichetti's been busy being interrogated—he hasn't seen the final result, but I had some photos to work from. You saw Brown a lot, so check off on him for me!"

Rally walked around the made-up, highlighted, shoe-lifted and extravagantly dressed Agent Wesson as he growled and muttered to himself. "Perfect. I can't add a thing. It's not bad at all, even close up, and if it was dark or at a distance, even someone who knew Brown well would need very good eyesight not to be fooled, for a little while at least." She completed the circuit and looked into a pair of almost-familiar turquoise eyes. "Contacts bugging you, Agent?"

"Little bit," said Wesson, blinking and grimacing up at the ceiling. "It's going to take months for these streaks to grow out!"

"Hey, you get to wear a mighty expensive set of duds! Don't complain." Rally fingered Wesson's Italian silk suit and straightened his iridescent tie, tightening it enough to choke him slightly. "We'll try not to wreck your lovely wardrobe!"

"Do you have any idea how big a chunk of our budget this outfit took? I have NEVER—"

"Worn false eyelashes before? But they're so fetching!" Rally and May giggled, then spluttered, clamping hands over their mouths in the attempt not to laugh too uproariously. "S-sorry…"

"Rrrr…" Wesson tried to scratch his left eye with his right hand, restrained in a plastic cast. May grabbed his arm and tut-tutted.

"Don't mess up the masterpiece! It has to last for a few hours at least!"

Smith walked in and did a double take. "Christ. That's you, isn't it, Bob? That's frigging scary."

"Of course it's me," snarled Wesson.

"Hmm, the voice pretty much spikes the illusion. Don't say anything if you can help it."

"It's not like I had anything to say about this in the first place," Wesson muttered, ripping open the Velcro strips on the cast and reaching for a coffee cup.

"Hey! No hot liquids!" May snatched it out of his hand. Wesson swore and plopped down in a chair, petulantly crossing his arms.

"Gosh, I never thought a little top-to-toe makeover would do so much for a humble FBI agent!" said Rally, still chuckling. "But Brown himself is fake from head to toe, so it's as authentic as he is!"

"Here's the fax," said Smith, handing one to Rally. "The L.A. office got the report about a half hour ago—two-thirty P.M. All of Brown's distributors got the word via email from the official Dragon address, and 426 spoke to Manichetti on his cell phone. We pinpointed the call to the area near USF, but he was passing through in a car at the time. Doesn't prove anything about his base of operations."

He pointed to a paragraph. "426 repeated the same message to everyone he contacted. He has Sarah and Tiffany, and unless Sylvester Brown reveals himself within eight hours, the FBI will begin to get them back. In FedEx envelopes."

Rally shuddered. "Geez. That sounds as if he's totally certain that Brown's alive!"

"It does, doesn't it? Wonder why."

"We'll find out! What is Brown himself going to do when he hears this? What if he's in Europe or something? He can't be back in California in eight hours! Not even if he took the Concorde!"

"All he has to do is contact the Dragons, apparently, and use some kind of code words to confirm that he's the real thing. See, it says something about 'the last time we conversed'. The clock will reset until he's had enough time to get to San Francisco, and he has forty-eight hours, max, to surrender. We don't know the code words or even have any idea of their nature, so although we could certainly simulate his voice, we can't make that call ourselves. Our decoy's good, though; we may be able to get away with just showing him off. I think we'll put him out in public and wait for contact."

"But what if Brown calls 426 in the middle of our operation?"

Smith frowned. "If he does do that, we could be in deep Shinola, but I have to admit I do not have the foggiest if that's going to happen. Manichetti is so adamant that he's dead, I almost believe him."

"I know what you mean," said Rally. "He is not giving us the whole truth, but I _some_ of it is for real—I'm not entirely sure how to sort it out yet."

"So let's keep the plan flexible. We'll have a lot of possibilities to account for, but let's try to narrow them down." Smith pointed at her. "Back me up while we talk to Manichetti—here he comes."

A tall blond female agent escorted Manichetti into the conference room. "This is it," said Smith, clapping him on the back. "We are going to try to get them back within eight hours—well, seven and a half hours by now. That gives us until 10:30 this evening, Pacific Time. Luckily we got a jump-start, thanks to your information, and to Miss Rally's quick thinking and initiative. Our team's already assembled, and we know one of our probable theaters of operation. You drew a map of the house? We're still trying to dig up the plans in the city records."

"Yessir," replied Manichetti. The female agent with him laid down a sheaf of photocopied maps and began to pass them out. A dark-haired male agent came in and sat down.

Wesson leaned forward into the light and took a photocopy, newly dark-blond hair gleaming, and Manichetti let out a cry. "Aaggh!" It wasn't entirely recognition; it was fear, with a superstitious edge. "Holy Mother!"

Smith laughed. "Congrats to you, Miss May. He looks like he's seen a ghost!"

"Certainly does," said Rally, wondering. Manichetti sat down and wiped his face, trembling.

"OK, that's good." Smith took a photocopy and scanned it. "Our decoy is as effective as we could hope for. This map will help a lot. Oh, by the way—this is Agent Wojohowicz, and this is Agent Furillo." He pointed to the blond woman and the dark-haired man.

Roy Coleman came in and sat down near Rally, nodding silently at her and turning his face away immediately afterwards. She had barely seen him since the team had returned from the hospital the previous afternoon after their encounter with Bean. May had said Roy had wanted to talk only to his wife, and she was right—he had not spoken a word to Rally or to anyone in her hearing all day.

"We need all the facts we can handle," said Smith. "And that is your cue, Mr. Manichetti. We want the whole story. Now."

"I…I explained it all to Agent Banacek," said Manichetti haltingly.

"Horse hockey," said Smith, ostentatiously dropping a typed report on the table. "This has holes I could drive a fucking oil tanker through. Tell us why 426 knows—and I mean I _knows_—that Brown is alive."

Manichetti went white. "He's dead. I swear, he's DEAD."

Rally jumped up and leaned over the table, pointing a finger right at Manichetti's nose. "O'Toole was on the secondary pier, so there was a way to escape the warehouse, and we found the hole anyway. You had the earring box, which Brown had put in his pocket. You didn't come back in there. So Brown came out! O'Toole was crazy about Brown. Loved him, in fact, from the bottom of his teeny-tiny, black heart! He would not have left Brown where he would be in danger! 426, who has excellent sources of information and is highly intelligent, is positive that Brown is at large. So are we. _Tell us!"_

Manichetti stared at the table, his chin wobbling.

"Where is he?" said Rally in a low, deadly tone.

"I…I don't know," said Manichetti. "I couldn't rightly say."

"So you admit he is alive," Smith grinned.

"He got out of the warehouse alive," prompted Rally.

"He got out of the damn warehouse alive," repeated Manichetti, sagging to the table with a pititful groan. "He did his best to make you think it was so, God help me, but Sly Brown never burned up in no damn fire."

"YES!" yelled Rally, startling everyone in the room. "I am the SUPER-SLEUTH! Wahoo!" She whooped and did a victory sign with her arms, then hugged May.

"YAY!" cheered May, handing out high-fives. "The Gunsmith Cats RULE!"

Roy, Smith, Wesson, Manichetti, Wojohowicz and Furillo stared.

"Sorry!" giggled Rally, and she and May sat down again. "It's nice to be _right!"_

"How did 426 find out?" Smith asked Manichetti.

"Brown told him," whispered Manichetti, forehead pressed to the table.

"Huh?" said Rally, coming down from her cloud.

"_Told_ him?" said Smith and Wesson incredulously. Furillo whistled.

"He was kinda stoned," said Manichetti, leaning back in his chair, limp, but looking somehow relieved. "Um, maybe I better tell it from the beginning. We all went out to Chicago—"

"Let's stick to the escape for now," said Wesson impatiently. Manichetti took another look at him, shuddering slightly.

"Well, Miss Vincent is right," he began again after a moment. "Tom blew an escape hatch. He had a rope ladder on him, and he let it down under the pier so's the two of them could get out. I had a boat there. I'd brought the guys to beat on Bandit, and then I waited under there, in between the pilings."

Manichetti turned to Rally. "You couldn't see us in there, 'cause the boat was a little stealth number in camo—we got it from the guys who run in to the coast and slip past the patrol boats, and it was pretty dark under the pier. We could see out, you couldn't see in. When you and Bandit got out on the secondary pier and jumped Tom, I could see you there, and soon as Bandit popped you one and—"

"What?" said Roy, startled out of silence.

"Bean hit me on the back of the head to knock me out," said Rally. "I didn't tell you about that, Roy; I'm sorry."

"There were a lot of things you didn't tell me," said Roy, and slumped back into his chair.

"Yeah," continued Manichetti. Apparently the floodgates had opened, and he seemed impatient to tell his story, talking rapidly over interruptions. "Mr. Brown came down the ladder into the boat after watchin' things for a bit. His leg was bad with the wounds, but he had good arm strength—"

"Yes, if he could fire a .44 magnum with one hand, he would have to be strong," said Rally, remembering Brown's tenacious grip on her in the room at the Mandarin Oriental. "Tell me why he screamed and told me that he was dying!"

"Well, uh, he was keepin' an eye on how things were going. Tom went out—he climbed on the supports, under the concrete floor—and he set up on the secondary pier for when people started coming out. I could hear Mr. Brown laughin'. He always liked to set up a scenario—is that what you'd call it? He talked about doin' movies with his dough. I said to him that I saw you guys on the secondary pier. Tom got on your wrong side and took a dive. He didn't swim to the boat, 'cause Mr. Brown had told him to hang in Frisco and take care of you two in case you didn't do it all on your own, and of course he wasn't gonna show you where we were hidin'.

"I could see him headin' out in the water. I was wondering if he was gonna swim to all the way to Alameda. He coulda made it to Treasure Island easy—he was a good swimmer even with that long arm on his back. Then Mr. Brown started up this moaning. I thought maybe the leg wound was hurting him, but he told me to be quiet. He started calling your name, and I saw you guys runnin' to the end of the pier to listen. I started to twig what he was up to, and I thought it was kinda funny, but—"

"Oh, YEAH!" Rally jumped up again. "Bean knocked me out to keep me from trying to _rescue_ Brown! Do you have ANY idea how I felt, hearing him scream? What I pictured when I believed he'd BURNED TO DEATH! ANY IDEA AT ALL!"

Manichetti ducked and stuttered, defending his head with his arms. "H-hey, I also thought it was p-pretty shitty of him! I heard what you said to him about people dyin' like that!"

"Seems he bugged just about any conversation he had!" Rally sat down, shaking, and May took her hand.

"Yeah, he liked to put wires and mics around and have me and Tom listenin'. I could tell you stories—well, I won't now. So I heard you say that about burnin' being the worst way to go. Must be what gave him the idea. So he yells and tells you he's dyin' in there, and you were gonna dive, and Bandit grabbed you instead. I hafta say I was relieved he did, because if you'd swum too close you'd'a seen us. Mr. Brown took risks like that, see? I could see you were pretty burnt up about it—I mean, you looked like this was really upsettin' you.

"I could hear you screamin' at Bandit to let you go. I got to feelin' kinda sorry for you, but Mr. Brown was gonna have his fun, and there wasn't much I could do about it. He screamed so loud, he practically lost his voice, but he didn't care much. When he got down into the boat, he was laughin' his fool head off, all hoarse."

"When I see him," said Rally through clenched teeth, "I am going to belt him SO hard—"

"Uh…well, Tom was way out in the water by then. He heard the screaming, and he started back in. I got Mr. Brown down in the bottom of the boat and covered him up with a blanket, 'cause he was getting a little shocky. Gave him the morphine and helped him shoot it up again. Then I waited for you guys to get off the secondary pier before I took her out from under. You were the only ones in position to see us.

"Bandit swung and popped you one, and carried you off, and I waited until he'd ripped a hole in the fence and taken you through. I motored out with Mr. Brown. Tom wasn't real near. I didn't realize at first that he thought Mr. Brown had really burnt up in the pier. Then he starts swimming towards it and grabbing the pilings, trying to climb, and I got it. I told Mr. Brown, and he said, don't tell Tom different, and I said OK, because…" He trailed off.

"Brown didn't even want his bodyguard to know he was still alive? When the man was in LOVE with him?"

"Uh, well, you're right about that too. Tom had a bad case for Sly Brown, had it for years. When he was sober, he'd never admit it, but when he was drunk, he'd tell me all about what he wanted to do with the boss."

Manichetti rolled his eyes. "I know he never said it to Mr. Brown or nothin', but no way he didn't know Tom was crazy about him. Used to give him a little peek once in a while, take off his shirt or somethin', just to keep him on the simmer. And Tom couldn't never keep a secret. If he thought the boss was dead for real, that would kinda make it more genuine, y'know? I guess Mr. Brown figured it like that, anyway."

"What a bastard! This is just UNBELIEVABLE!"

"I ain't gonna argue that one, Miss."

"So when did he tell the Dragons he was alive?" inquired Smith.

"Little while later. I went offshore and I headed out around Alcatraz to pick up his cabin cruiser that was berthed at Sausalito. We switched over to the big boat and I took him out through the Golden Gate. He had shot up with morphine twice already 'cause of the bullets you put in his leg, and then he did a couple lines of coke for good measure. He was higher'n a kite. Laughing and sayin' you were a perfect patsy—"

"That SOB," muttered Rally. May patted her shoulder.

"He got out the ship-to-shore radio. I was drivin' the boat and I didn't notice what he was doing right away. I didn't realize who he was talkin' to."

"Brown called 426?"

"Called 426, used his real name, for God's sake, and told him he was gonna be dead. I grabbed the radio and told him to go lie down and shut up, and he did. Laughing his goddamn head off. All that trouble to set up his dying and gettin' away; the whole plan, laying the Semtex, finagling the cash, getting Rally Vincent involved to muddy the waters, and he goes and blows it to shit at the last minute."

"I've seen him do that before," said Rally.

"No shit. Smart guy, but that crazy streak'd always bust out. Couldn't hide it forever, and coke generally popped out the cork. He snorted up before he made a move on you, right?"

"Yes, he was stoned." Rally made a disgusted face. "And drunk from trying to get me drunk, and generally revolting—what, you KNEW that? He told you he struck out with me? He sure didn't have a wire in that hotel room!"

"It was part of the plan, Miss. He was gonna sleep with you and like, win you over, and get you to take care of Bandit for us. But I guess that's another story, and it didn't work anyhow, and I'll tell it later, huh?" He looked pleadingly at Smith and Rally. "I answered your question. That's how 426 knows. Please, all I care about on God's green earth is Sarah Brown and Miss Tiffany. Can we just work on getting 'em safe for now?"

"Well, I _shit_," said Smith. "So we have to count on Brown pulling some kind of fool stunt just as we try to save his family? AGAIN?" His face reddened. "This guy is rapidly losing my sympathy!"

"He used 426's real name?" said Rally suddenly. "That was the last time they conversed! The challenge says the code is something to do with their last conversation!"

"426's real name is the code word?" said Wesson.

"Could be! We'd better ask Larry if he knows it—I bet he does!"

"I'll call," said Smith. "Let's wrap up this informational meeting and get the actual operators together for tactical planning. Anything more for Manichetti, Miss Rally?"

"You don't know where Brown is right now?" Rally persisted. "No ideas?"

"I can't contact him," said Manichetti, biting his lips. "No one—he ain't gonna bust in or try any dumb stunts. Believe me, there's no way you are going to hear from him."

"Not to save his own child?"

"Not this time."

"Hum," said Smith. "I hope you are sure about that, because if you're wrong, the only things you care about could pay for it. Assuming_ anything_ you've told us so far has a grain of truth in it! You swore he'd died in the fire. What the hell else are you holding back?"

"Gimme a lie detector. Anything you want!"

"OK," said Rally after a pause. "It's not like we have a whole lot of time here. We have to make some assumptions in order to plan, and maybe Manichetti is right, but I still think we had better keep Brown in mind. We've got our resources lined up?"

Smith ticked off on his fingers. "Infiltration and weapons experts—that's you and Agent Furillo." The dark man nodded at Rally. "Another decoy, to confuse 'em about Sarah Brown—that's Agent Wojohowicz, since she fits the general description: tall and blond; and she's going to help shepherd the hostages to the car and keep the kid calm. We have the car and the driver lined up already—"

"Who is that going to be?" sneered Wesson. "What kind of nut would ask for that monster of a Charger? I certainly hope this is going to be someone you can count on, because he seems to have the automotive taste of Bean Bandit!"

Rally looked at Smith, and Smith looked back with a quirky smile. "You want to tell him, Miss Rally, or shall I?"

"Oh, I will," said Rally, with a smile. "I wouldn't pass up a straight line like that…for half a million bucks!"

* * *

"I have not had ANY chance to take pictures of San Francisco yet!" complained May, shuffling through several rolls of developed prints and spreading them out over the table in their hotel room. "There's going to be a week-long hole in the vacation scrapbook!" She pulled out one print and waved it at Rally. "Look! This one of you is pretty good!" 

"Huh?" Rally startled out of a daydream in which Bean had followed her car again and taken her to a secluded part of Golden Gate Park. She had tested and discarded several scenarios involving romance-novel picnics and boat rides as utterly vomit-worthy and was in the middle of a modified version of their motorcycle ride, minus the pursuit and the gunshots.

Recalling the feel of Bean's body through his jacket as she clasped her arms around him, the warmth and the muscular force of him…and his hands, and his kisses, and the way he'd spoken to her once, soft and smoky, urging her on top, to take him inside her.

At that moment, she would almost have given anything to live those minutes of sweat and heat and strange tenderness a second time, feel again everything she had felt with Bean. Even the pain, because he had done his best to spare her as much pain as he could. She'd never have him again, not if either of them had any sense at all, so she would have to hold on to the memory, replay it over and over until it had worn itself a space in her mind from which it could not escape. Already she had let go of the dreadful aftermath of that night, nearly forgotten the ugly words he'd used. The only recollection that retained its power was the look on Bean's face as he had watched her reach for orgasm, and the pleasure he'd given her, or coaxed from her body.

Bean Bandit, the most unconcernedly lawbreaking, rigidly neutral, infuriatingly uncommitted person she knew, had made love to her—made _love_, as if he meant every move of it, and she, Rally Vincent, criminal-chasing bounty hunter, was imagining that he was doing it again. It made no sense at all.

"Man, you are living on another planet! Look at the picture!" May shook it under her nose. "What do you think?"

Rally took it and held it in the light from the window. In the picture, she stood in front of Cinderella's Castle at Disneyland, holding a large blob of cotton candy on a stick and smiling at some of Snow White's seven dwarfs. "Eh. I don't know. I'm squinting into the sun." She handed it back.

"Oh, Ms. Picky!" May looked through the prints again. "Here! How about this one?"

"My hair's all over the place!"

"It looks cute like that! I'll get an enlargement! Oh, hey. This one I'm giving to Ken in an eight-by-ten!" May brandished a shot of herself hugging Mickey Mouse. Her tank top had slipped low over her pregnancy-enlarged breasts, and Goofy seemed to be looking directly down her cleavage. "Nice! This will show him what he missed by not coming along with us!"

"A menage-a-trois with cartoon animals? Kinky!"

"Oh, you are developing a dirty mind, girl!" May laughed, tongue sticking out of her mouth. "Hey…speaking of…heh, heh, so Agent Smith told me that you saw Bean today. Like, twice! He actually begged you to forgive him and was all touchingly eager to do what you asked him to! How sticky did your panties get?"

"May!" Rally blushed and crossed her legs. On the table, she spotted a few pictures of the Buttonkettle Motel 6 —apparently May had been _really_ stumped for something to do there! She wondered if she could sneak one into her purse without comment from her friend. "He wasn't _eager_! More like, obligated. He hates Brown, and—"

"No, honestly. What did it feel like to see him?"

"Oh, geez…"

"If you are going to sit in a car with him all evening, you had better sort out what's likely to happen! You're the one who set that up, don't forget!"

"Ooogghh…I did, didn't I?" Rally put her forehead into her hands. "I want to talk to him…no, I want to give him the third degree! I can't leave well enough alone. Like a woman whose husband cheated on her and won't let go of it! I have to hear every damn detail and dissect his every motivation, and I know I won't like what I hear, and I still want to! I am SICK!"

"Why won't you like what you hear?"

Rally leaned back with a sigh. "Just for an example, I demanded he explain why he was going to cut my face. It was more than I really wanted to know—I mean, that he got used for a sex toy by a small-time crime queen he later killed in a street fight? Ugh! And I have the impression he hasn't gone back and subtracted two years from his age at the time of every incident in his memory. That means he was FIFTEEN, max! Taken advantage of and taught how to KILL people, at that age! If the rest of his life reads like—"

"Mine?" May shrugged. "You think he's permanently twisted or something? Kids are tough."

"You telling me you're NOT a sick little puppy? Ha!" Rally dodged a pillow May threw at her. "No, I mean…since he was twelve, he's been on the streets! Fending for himself, in _Chicago_!"

"Thirteen here, honey, and the same mean streets. Honestly, am I a total psychopath?"

"You were lucky! You met Ken, and he took care of you."

"That's the first time you've ever thought my meeting Ken was I _lucky_!"

"All right, you have a point. Ken may not be my favorite kind of guy, but he isn't nearly as bad as the people Bean seems to have run with."

"Wow, what a compliment!" May looked aggrieved. "He's my man, and he's Junior's daddy!"

"I know, I know; I'm sorry. I know you love him, May, and that ought to be good enough for me. It is good enough for me, OK? I will shut up about Ken."

"But Bean's not good enough for you? Just as he is? I don't necessarily mean as a boyfriend or something—just as a person?"

"Oh, I _geez_! I have to know what's under all that hard surface—or do I? I have no I _idea_ what I'm going to find, I'm sure, and I can't help doing it anyway! People have done bad things to him, and I'm afraid he may have done bad things to people. Worse than killing a woman in self-defense—a LOT worse. Things I don't want to know—and I'm going to go ahead and pry them out of him anyway, and I think he feels obligated to tell me. I'm as bad as Brown for wanting to rummage around in his head! How am I going to stop myself?"

"Why don't you just read that folder?" said May. "What's the point of my stealing it if you aren't even going to look at it?"

"I think we still need to keep that hidden! It's in the bathroom ceiling?"

"Uh-huh. I lifted up a panel and stuck it in the insulation. I can take it down any time you want to look at it!" May started to get up.

"No, not yet! I want to hear about that ballistics report from Smith first, so I don't let it slip that I've seen it!"

"I destroyed that just in case."

"Good! I think we got some back at Wesson already, though." Rally chuckled. "He's so PRETTY in makeup!"

"Isn't he, though?" May smirked. "I think even he was impressed! From mousy accountant to California golden boy in a couple of hours! I thought I got him looking darn hot, even if it was all fake!"

"That kind of guy is NEVER going to appeal to me! Overdressed, smarmy, sweet-talking bleached blondes? Ick!"

"Yeah, I know what kind of guy appeals to you!" May looked at Rally with sharp humor. "Big, mean, close-mouthed, and fond of black leather! C'mon, how did you feel talking to him?"

"Ohh…all right, fine. I talked to Bean, and he was behaving…like he cared what I thought of him, and…and he kept mentioning how much he'd wanted me, like forever, and he looked awfully disappointed when I told him I wouldn't have slept with him any more even without his acting like an idiot over the suitcase, and then everything he did and said kept reminding me of what it was like to do it with him and it started getting obvious to me that I had wanted it too, not to get at him or make him comfort me—I just wanted, I wanted… I _him_, and when it did I got all upset and blew up at him and he turned around and told me things he's probably never admitted to another human being since they happened, and…and…"

"You are _bright_ red, girl!" May cocked a brow at her. "And practically incoherent! This looks like a major case, and for you, that is SERIOUS!"

"I guess it is!" Rally wailed, flailing her arms and pacing the room. "OK, it's a major case of serious physical lust, and it's on both sides, and…and has been for a while, since from the moment we stepped into that motel room all I could _think_ of was sex, and I basically invited him to make a move without thinking for one SECOND about the consequences, so if he hadn't stopped, I would have let him do anything he wanted to right then and there...and I'm still not sure why he stopped, since he kept making comments about it, or more than comments, for two whole days, and it stayed in the air until we actually did it, and now it's worse, not better, though I never knew sex was like that, and it's obvious it did something to him that I never expected it would, and if I didn't know it would hurt both of us, I might even want—"

May had a wide, knowing grin, and Rally continued with an agonized shriek. "OK, I admit it! I thought about it! I've been imagining doing it with him again and I'm just burning up with it! If he kissed me now, I'm afraid I would tackle him flat! It doesn't make sense; it's just the way it is! Are you SATISFIED?"

"Doesn't sound like YOU are!" May chuckled, lips pursing and pulling in as if she were suppressing the impulse to say more. "You better be I _care_-ful!"

"I don't seem to be able to, around him! What am I going to do?"

"You sure you want to do something about it?"

"Huh? Why wouldn't I? I can't have a…relationship like that with Bean Bandit! I—I'd get all involved and stuff! I'm not the kind who could go on sleeping with a man and stay detached, the way he stands aloof from everyone—though I don't think it's a superficial thing for him either—" Rally broke off, choking. "No. I am not going to think about that, because it's too darn scary! It's _physical_, because he likes the way I look or something, and since I guess it's the same for me, or the way he smells, or how good he is at…oh, i _God_…"

May looked down and began to sort photographs again, shrugging casually. "Hey, you have to do what makes sense to you." She glanced up in a way that conveyed secret glee. "It's I _only_ physical? So treat it as a physical attraction. You're just not open for business transactions. No BFD, right?"

"FINE! I will, though I can see you've got something else in mind!" Rally got up and fetched Larry Sam's file box, dropping on the table with a thump. "Here! Look through this, if you're in the photo-gazing mood! You said you thought you could have met a Dragon or two."

"Could have, yeah." May put her vacation photos aside and opened the box. "Where are the mug shots?"

"The folder marked 'Dossiers'. It's all well organized." Rally pulled it out and May opened it, examining the typed sheets and pictures. "I have to meet Bean downtown at eight with the Charger, so I'm going to leave my car here and take a taxi to the Federal Building. You take a look at the Cobra while it's here, OK?"

"What for?" said May, turning pages.

"Pete Smith hinted that it was bugged."

"Huh?"

"And it must be a recorder, not a broadcast, since I think they have to retrieve the tape or chip or whatever. I do NOT want Agent Wesson listening to what I said to Bean this morning, though the most delicate part of it wasn't said near the car. It's just not for anyone else's ears."

"Uh-oh!" May looked up. "Did we talk about stealing the folder in the car?"

"Eeek!" Rally's mouth dropped open. "Uh…let me think…I told you about it when we were walking—and then you gave it to me in here. N-no, I don't think we did. Wesson didn't know what had happened to the thing—he asked Smith about it in my presence. I think we're OK—I hope!"

"Man, I hope so too! What's the penalty for stealing FBI information?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out! See why I want to keep the folder under wraps?"

"Yes, I see your point!" May let out a slightly relieved breath and patted her chest over her heart. "You know, I think I'll just take a nice big electromagnet and pass it all over the Cobra. I doubt I'll be able to find an FBI bugging device without ripping things apart—those are out of my league and they can disguise them as car components anyway. But I bet I can mess up whatever's on there right now." She glanced around and at the ceiling fixture. "Just as a precaution, I'll ask to have this room changed for another one. I swept it a couple of times already, but it never hurts to be careful!"

"Good thought. You do that." Rally peered over May's shoulder. "Does anyone look familiar?"

"No, not yet. Red Mountain? You mentioned him."

"He seems to be the most senior member in the USA."

"All the leadership is in here…and subordinate leadership; but there's no picture of this 426 guy. Just a fact sheet—no, two."

"Larry said there weren't any pictures of him. He had a long friendship with the guy, but I guess he never took any—426 probably wouldn't have liked that."

"Maybe he doesn't show up on film! Woohoohoo!" May made a spooky sound, and they both laughed. "He's a vampire! A creature of ancient evil! Bwahahah!"

"Yuck! That's a comforting thought! God, but it almost fits him… They'll probably get that forensic artist to do a portrait." Rally shivered. "I think Roberta is going to run screaming out of the room when that guy shows up on her monitor. I don't think a photo would show the essence of the man anyway, but one of her mug shots—hoo boy."

"Why don't you describe him for me? Just in case."

"OK…let's see. Late forties. About five-ten, looks very fit, but not lean—rough estimate, one hundred and sixty pounds of muscle. He was wearing a business suit with a loose cut, probably to help hide a holster, so his build wasn't really visible, but his neck was corded and his face was spare—no extra flesh, but not skeletal. Kind of…restrained. Just enough meat on him without being bulky. If he smiled, he might be sort of attractive, but he didn't really smile...no, now that I think about it, I don't think I'd want to see one of his smiles! Face is fairly tan, and clean-shaven. Hair's about one-third grey, especially around the temples. Cut pretty short, not more than an inch and a quarter. Asian, of course—I mean, entirely Asian. He doesn't have any European characteristics visible, though I hear that Macanese are frequently mixed-race, and Red Mountain looks it. The eyes…"

"Yes?"

"I think you'd know him from the eyes alone, if he let it show. I once or twice thought I saw something nasty under Brown's surface, but it was _nothing_ compared to 426. Larry Sam said something similar. Like…I saw a picture once, in a book. It was a combination of a dozen photographs of mass murderers and genocidal heads of state. Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, John Wayne Gacy, Charles Manson, and so on. The separate faces didn't have much in common. But the eyes…"

"Oh."

"Yeah. That chill, like someone walking over your grave, except that he's standing right in front of you. You know what I mean, May. You'll recognize him."

"Yow. I guess I will. At least he won't hit on me if I do meet him!"

"Yeah, small blessings." Rally had a sudden thought. "Gosh…he's gay, and it's pretty obvious that O'Toole was also gay…in a sense."

"In a sense?"

"He hated women, which isn't the same thing, and liked to sexually assault them, or at least beat them up. But you heard what Manichetti said—he was devoted to Brown, and wanted him. I guess you could define that as a homosexual love, though the guy seems to have been utterly conflicted about it himself, and the standard labels aren't always true to life. O'Toole loved _Brown_, not men in general—Brown was the only _person_ he had ever loved, I'd imagine. But I wonder if 426 picked up on that? The way O'Toole kept talking about his 'darlin' lad'."

"That ugly little creep? I thought 426 liked handsome young Chinese men!"

"No, not like that! Just…a thing they might have in common. Maybe 426 was going to kill O'Toole, but ended up only burning 'Retribution' into his skin because he felt some kind of sympathy for him. I've been wondering about that from the moment I saw it. I mean, that's a totally weird idea, but it's the kind of thing 426 would notice."

"You're right. That IS totally weird."

"They both lost their lovers that night…well, not their lovers. People they wanted, but never got to have. There's a lot more than grief operating in a case like that, especially considering who these guys are."

"Maybe you're right." May kept looking through dossier pages. "I can't say I ever wanted someone I didn't get to have." She smiled at Rally. "I don't know about you."

"Uh, well, I…"

"Say, did you use _your_ camera at all on this trip? I forgot to ask if you had any rolls to develop."

"I think I've taken about six pictures, max." Rally shook her head. "Still have eighteen to go on the first roll."

"You didn't take any of Bean?"

"Huh? No!" Rally groaned. "We were working! I don't think he'd have appreciated it any more than 426, anyway. Even the FBI doesn't have any recognizable photos of Bean."

"I'm not surprised. He's probably careful about that." May picked up her camera and pretended to take a shot. "I'd like a picture of the two of you together. So I can get an enlargement and put it on the wall and imagine…well, I'm a romantic."

"Oh, no! You are still trying to cast me and Bean in your personal soap opera! Not going to happen—unless you put it all together in a computer or something. The FBI artists can do perfect fakes."

"Oh, cool! Well, I have lots of shots of you, so all I need is one of Bean. Maybe I'll get one of those digital cameras." May cackled and turned over the last dossier page. "Huh. That's all of them, and none of 'em looks familiar. Are there any other photos in here?"

"No other mug shots—there's a set of shots taken at banquets and things in the Miscellaneous folder."

May extracted it and flipped through it. "No…none of these people either. Looks like a strikeout…whoa!"

"What? Someone you know?"

"Hell, yes! But I know this isn't a Triad member—this isn't a man. They do NOT initiate women!"

"Who is she?"

May held up the picture for Rally to see. "That woman—the one with the bun and the square chin. She visited the house in New York while I was training there. Her name is—"

"Lum," said Rally, grimacing.

"You've seen her too?"

"She's the one who searched me at the pier! Reminded me of a prison matron!"

"No kidding! She was a real tough disciplinarian. Madame Lum…wow, brings back old times." May shook her head. "Not really GOOD old times, though! Even Granny Hao thought Madame Lum was an iron-assed bitch—well, in Chinese she said 'water buffalo with a brass cunt', but close enough! I was SO glad I didn't have to work in a house SHE ran!"

"That's the impression I got! Brown said she ran the vice businesses on the West Coast. I guess she doesn't have to be an initiated member to do that—she must have male relatives in the Eight Dragons."

"She's come up in the world, then! She was kind of a regional supervisor and procurer in New York, though I didn't know exactly who for. Brought in girls from Asia and Russia…not always ones who wanted to work in whorehouses, either. You are right about my being lucky to have a choice about that." May looked sober. "I told you the girls helped each other out. I helped some girls get out of the trade, as a matter of fact. I had enough money to loan them so they could pay off their debts."

"I am learning things about the global sex industry I NEVER knew…hey, there's an angle." Rally held up a finger. "If you want to pursue it, that is. It could be risky."

"What? Renew my acquaintance with Madame Lum?"

"The FBI doesn't know where the Dragons are hiding out now that their HQ is abandoned. They are probably scattered all over the city, or even the whole Bay Area. If we knew where the leaders are, especially 426 and his thugs, we would have some way to predict their movements while we rescue Sarah and Tiffany Brown."

Rally looked at her watch. "Wesson does the decoy thing at nine or nine-thirty when it's good and dark, and it's five P.M. now. I would be willing to bet that a madam who provides girls for all the leadership would know exactly where they're staying. Naturally 426 doesn't go for girls, but certainly the bigwigs do. Do you think you could contact anyone by the time we have to move in?"

"You know, I probably could." May bit her lip in thought. "I know where to check, at any rate! I can ask around in the mother tongue, so they'll take me seriously. I'll have to dress the part, though!" She looked down at her T-shirt and shorts, her round belly swelling the waistline of the shorts. "I'll have to pick something concealing—let me model for you!" May jumped up and opened the closet, pulling out clothes.

"Thanks, honey! Can you take anyone along? I don't want you haunting the Chinatown dives alone!"

"Uhh…well, I could take another woman, if she looked like the type, or I could take a man, if he would play pimp!" May pulled off her shorts and put a dress over her head. "Does this one hide the bulge? I want to look like I'm in the market for a randy old Triad!"

"Take Roy with you, then. He's done undercover. Though he's about the polar opposite of the pimp type! Maybe he's your driver or your bodyguard, which would be true anyway!"

"OK, that sounds fine. Give him a call—I think he's in his room." May pulled the dress off and put another one on. Rally picked up the phone and dialed Roy's room number. It rang four times, then was picked up.

"Yes?"

"Hey, it's Rally. May and I have a job for you, if you'd like to do a little underworld investigation! Want to come up to our room and we'll fill you in?"

Roy didn't answer for a moment. "All right," he said quietly, and immediately hung up. Rally was caught in the middle of a phrase, mouth open, and looked at the phone.

"Sheesh. There is something eating him, big time. May? Did he say anything to you?"

"When?" said May, muffled in a dress she was pulling over her head. "About what?"

"I don't know. Did you see how silent he was in the meeting this afternoon? And how he just got up and left when I told Wesson about Bean being the rescue driver, between giggles? I think he is really upset…maybe with me."

"With you? Oh—about Bean!" May's head emerged from the dress. "Oh, my gosh! I've been so silly and babbling about true romance—what must he THINK?"

"I guess he's not thinking happy ever after! Oh, no. Poor Roy. Well, that settles it—I I _have_ to know what went on yesterday when Bean followed my car and they tried to arrest him. Something to clear up what Bean told Roy about, um, 'consensual sex'. No one seemed to want to explain that one."

"All he told me was that it wasn't rape. Frankly, he didn't seem too relieved, though of course he was. He said he was glad you hadn't been attacked, but I don't think he was glad you'd had sex with Bean."

"Geez, why would he be?" Rally rolled her eyes in chagrin. "He told me to be careful too, but not the way you mean it. Like Bean was going to be dangerous, which of course he is, but not that way. He's just not the rapist type, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," said May with a sigh, smoothing her latest dress and twirling the skirt down. "I just didn't think _you_ were the SEX type! It was easier to believe Bean was a creep!" She stopped her whirl and looked at Rally. "I was really surprised, remember? I got over it fast! But Roy—"

There was a knock on the door, and Rally opened it. Roy nodded at her and came a few steps into the room. "OK, kids, what's the job?" A note of false jollity, as if he realized he'd been abrupt and distant all day. "I'm game—not that I have a whole lot of time on my hands here, with all this sitting in meetings and assisting the FBI to make photocopies."

"At least they'll let you off the hook soon," said Rally reassuringly. "When we get back to Chicago, you won't have to help the FBI arrest Bean, because the whole thing about getting him into the Triad is gone by the board."

"Help the FBI arrest Bean?" Roy's face twisted. "Hell, no. I'm going to do it all on my goddamn own!"

"Uh…sorry, I shouldn't have…um, Roy, could I ask you a question?"

"What about?"

"What did Bean tell you yesterday? When you accused him of attacking me? Why was everyone so evasive…?"

"Don't ask me! Don't ever ask me that!" Roy gritted his teeth, all humor gone, his voice harsh and savage. "Did you have some kind of job for me?"

May put a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. After a stunned silence, Rally picked up her purse. "I'm going out. Um, for a while. May, you and Roy take care of it. Call me if you…um, bye."

She put her jacket on and left, tears of pain starting in her eyes. Once out on the street, she leaned against a wall for a moment to recover herself. "Oh, God... Roy, I'm so sorry…but I can't help it. I promise, I'll do everything I can to fight it. But I'm so afraid I might have already lost …"

* * *

"I have some pictures to show you, O'Toole," said 426 through the darkness of a stifling room. "Are you awake?" 

"Yeh…"

"How is the pain?"

"I'm so glad ye care, yeh filthy Chink sodomite…" Through the wire brace on his broken jaw, his voice was restricted and blurred.

426 chuckled. "I am going to turn on the light." He snapped it on, the harsh white glare making O'Toole flinch. The little man lay on an iron bed with a sheet-covered mattress, his right foot chained to the uprights. His left leg was truncated in the middle of the thigh, the stump swathed in bandages, and his hips were entirely obscured with surgical dressings.

He was otherwise naked, what remained of his lower body blotched with red and black burns and most of his hair gone. Both arms, relatively unscathed, were strapped down. A catheter, colostomy bag and drain tubes clustered around his groin and he had a permanent IV shunt in his neck, a bag of blood plasma dripping into the vein. "I will order your caretaker to increase your morphine dosage, if that is what you need."

O'Toole rolled a bleary yellow glare up at him. "I need to kill ye, that's what I fockin' need."

"Because I have instructed that you be kept alive?" 426 trailed a finger over the character he had burned into O'Toole's chest. "You have not yet accomplished your purpose. You cannot die at this time."

"How in God's name am I to accomplish fock all?" O'Toole raged, sparse tears wetting his cheeks. "How'm I to walk, or even take a fockin' pee? I've lost me leg, in case ye ain't noticed, and me dick's gone the way of all flesh! I'm nothin' but a piece of half-roast meat!" He strained at the straps, arm muscles bulging. "At least I got me trigger finger still! Just give me a gun and let me blow me fockin' brains out!"

"The doctor tells me you have about a week of life remaining, O'Toole." 426 sat down in the bedside chair, holding a manila envelope marked 'Huang, H. K.' and stamped with a San Francisco County coroner's seal. "Your injuries and your burns will kill you in that time, he says, especially since you lack the will to live."

"Music to me ears. I'll be with me sweet lad, and I won't care if it's roastin' in the fires o' hell. At his side again." O'Toole closed his eyes.

"Do you know," said 426, opening the envelope, "what Henry Huang was to me?"

"Huh? Yer surveillance and electronics monkey, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he had great talents in that area. I mean, do you know what he was to me personally?"

"Yeh fancied him, yeh mean?" O'Toole rolled his eyes. "Don't care to hear about yer filthy perversions, do I?"

"It is ironic that the only thing we have in common is so disgusting to you, O'Toole." 426 took out a stack of eight-by-ten color glossies, put on a pair of reading glasses and sorted the photographs into a different order. "That you owe your life in part to your own 'filthy perversion', as you put it, is even more ironic. But no matter. Please look through these pictures." He unstrapped one of the prisoner's arms and held the photographs out.

"What the hell is this?" said O'Toole after taking one. "Christmas dinner?"

"These, of course, are the autopsy photos and coroner's report on Huang. I have not, alas, been able to obtain a copy of the ballistics report."

426 looked at O'Toole, who stared back. "Yes, this is the man I loved." 426 examined some of the pictures, his face barely changing. "Here he is, laid out upon a table and opened. That is his heart in a steel container."

"So he's a fine-lookin' lad on the inside as well, isn't he now?" sneered O'Toole. "What's it to do with me?"

426 flipped through the coroner's report. "You saw him die, you say. Killed by a bullet fired through the glass wall by the bounty hunter. Yes?"

"That's it."

"Please look at the third photograph. It is of the entry wound in Huang's head."

"That's a nasty hole, to be sure." O'Toole laughed.

"The bullet was extracted, proved to be a .32 caliber, and was handed over to the FBI lab. They are carrying out the ballistics tests and other forensic investigations themselves. I have the FBI preliminary report on the scene, obtained from the San Francisco authorities. I do not have the ballistics test results, however, since they are apparently being kept confidential even within the Bureau. Unfortunately, it is far more difficult to buy or steal FBI information than it is to bribe underpaid county clerical workers—nearly impossible, in fact, unless one has the budget of the KGB and a volunteer mole. Until the FBI releases the ballistics results to the San Francisco police, I have little chance of obtaining them."

"Well, then." O'Toole chuckled to himself. "Ye've got my word on it, haven't ye?"

"I have checked your story independently," said 426. "And I have read the report and examined the autopsy photographs very carefully. Everything agrees with your account. The bullet's caliber, the angle of the wound, the confirmation of the witness, who in fact offered a plausible explanation of deliberate motive on the bounty hunter's part. It all fits. All except one or two facts that have emerged only with the autopsy report."

"Eh?"

"There is gunpowder in the wound."

O'Toole said nothing.

"It is possible that since the glass wall had already been shot through several times—there were four shell casings in the adjacent office—that gunpowder was able to accompany the bullet into the wound. The glass did not collapse, as it is very thick—the first two shots served mostly to batter a hole through it. But that hole is no larger than three inches in diameter on the entry side.

"She had cut her hands on the broken glass of the office window—her blood is on the window frame and forms handprints on the carpet and elsewhere. Still, her marksmanship was precise enough to place the shots in a relatively small group. The first bullet was deflected to the floor, where it was recovered by the police. The second and third were not found, and your account places them in Brown's left leg. Certainly the blood near the window would bear that out. The last—"

"That's the one that hit 'im!" O'Toole's face sprang out in sweat. "That last one!"

"Since it was not found in the wall or the floor, I have not ruled out the possibility on that basis. But although Huang's body was disturbed after death, apparently by Bandit, the bloodstains on the carpet prove that he originally lay considerably to the right of the hole in the glass wall. If the last shot hit the left edge of the hole, it could have been deflected to the right and down into his skull.

"But if the bullet changed trajectory so radically, it is unlikely that the amount of powder present in the wound would have been carried along with it. That is more likely with a straight shot that directly entered his head. In addition, the characteristics of the entry wound are those of a medium-close-range shot, not those of a deflected shot that has lost some of its momentum. This is of course only the pathologist's opinion, based on his experience with such matters."

426 paused and looked at O'Toole. "The motive I mentioned, which was to silence him on the whereabouts of the half-million dollars, would make the direct shot more likely, at any rate, though no casing was recovered in Brown's office. Are you certain that the shot through the glass wall killed Huang?"

"Uh…now that yeh put it that way…"

"Mmm."

O'Toole shook all over, his lips working. "It was the wee bitch, sir. It was her."

"It would seem that you are eager to live after all, and that the fires of hell still hold terror." 426 smiled. "Well, in the absence of conclusive evidence either way, it is still probable that the bounty hunter killed him. The cash constitutes an excellent motive, and my witness is reliable. In any case, I have work for you."

"But…what th' hell can I do?" O'Toole looked down his body.

"You will be briefed shortly. It will doubtless cause you pain to be moved, but I will see that you have all the drugs you need. As you say, your trigger finger is intact, not to mention your eyesight; and your hatred for the bounty hunter must now have reached such a pitch as to be unbearable." 426 glanced down O'Toole's ruined body. "It is essential that you do exactly as I say."

"Anythin' at all," said O'Toole. "Sir."

* * *

"How long is this gonna take?" Bean eased the primer-spotted black Hemi Charger backwards into the dark driveway of a palatial Pacific Avenue house and cut the engine. "Do I take a nap, or stay on my toes?" 

"We wait until Smith calls to say Wesson's in place and the fish are nibbling." Rally checked her watch in a thin beam of streetlight as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Across the street and down a few houses, Brown's mansion stood, the windows dark. Bean tapped his fingers on the wheel. "About a half hour or so, since it's eight-twenty already and there's only two hours to go on the deadline. Brown hasn't surfaced to date. Furillo and Wojohowicz are tuned in to the same frequency, so we can all coordinate."

She picked up the radio handset. "Batmobile to Adam-12. We're in place. What's the update?"

"Adam-12 here," said Wojohowicz. "We're parked half a block east of you as arranged, and we've been here for about forty minutes. The surveillance squad says one delivery came in the back about seven, and that the parabolic mic is still picking up conversations in the basement. We know the little girl and her mother are both there. The best estimate says there are four guards indoors and two on the roof. They don't seem to have made us, and the lookouts are sleeping on the job.

"Agent Smith says most of the best Dragon operatives seem to have ended up in the hospital or are otherwise out of commission —a big gang fight outside a bar this afternoon accounts for it, apparently—and they are using some of the least experienced of the thug squad for guard duty. The better-trained ones are probably bodyguarding the higher numbers."

"Lucky for us! We'll have to thank the other gang, whoever they were!"

"You bet, Vincent. Agent Furillo and I are going to go up the driveway of the brick-trimmed house. How about you?"

Rally spread out her map of the house and peered through the windshield. "I'll stay close to the Brown house in case the lookouts wake up. I see I'll have to scale a gate to get to the cellar door, but there are trash cans I can use for a boost. You OK with the side entrance? It looks clear?"

"Fine," came Furillo's voice. "I'm loaded with baton rounds and twelve-gauge solid slugs, and I've got my SIG P226, though I doubt it will come to that. Wojohowicz has her ten-millimeter, the listening equipment and the armored vests. Is your driver backing us up or staying with the car? I don't recall anyone mentioning that in the meeting."

"I guess not." Rally looked over at Bean. "But Bean usually prefers to keep out of the action, since he values his neutrality. Doesn't pick fights." Bean smiled ironically. "What?"

"Nothin'. I'll stay with the car."

"Roger," said Furillo, signing off.

"It's the two of them and me in the house, then, until we get the hostages into the car," Rally explained to Bean, pulling her ten-gauge out of the back seat. "We shouldn't be more than six minutes—we timed it out. Then you take over, and I ride shotgun, and Agent Wojohowicz is in charge of the girls. Agent Furillo will take his car in the opposite direction to confuse pursuit."

"I take 'em to this little park?" Bean pointed to his city map. "You got the troops lined up there?"

"Yes, there will be a couple of dozen FBI agents waiting at the staging area, with a crapload of firepower and armor. Smith's coordinated that. It's not very close to the house, so the guards and lookouts won't realize what's going on before we move in. You have to make it about a mile and a half, up and down some pretty steep hills—well, the route is up to you, of course, though they're going to alert the SFPD to clear the area for FBI activity.

"This house and most of the others on the block have been quietly evacuated. No one's going to escort us, so that you can do your stuff unimpeded—I had to argue that one, or you'd have been sandwiched with FBI vehicles as soon as we got two blocks away from the house. Naturally this car isn't bulletproof, so speed is going to be our main defense. We've got vests for the girls and I'm wearing my armored leathers." Rally flipped the lapel of her driving outfit. "So you do it any way you like, as long as we make it to the park."

"Sure, whatever. I'm gonna beat it soon as all my cargo is out."

"Smith promised me that you won't be arrested. But I guess that's sensible anyway."

Bean grunted, but said nothing; she had a sense that he meant 'at least that's one sensible thing I'm going to do today'. She'd been in this car with him, alone, for half an hour, and he had barely spoken two sentences until now, though she had outlined the entire rescue plan and waited for comment. Bean had given her nothing but a shrug or two, and as many grunts, and Rally had taken the hint and not said much other than what was required for the operation.

She could understand his not having much enthusiasm for rescuing Brown's family; he loathed Brown for very good reason. But his present indifference to her bothered her almost as much as Roy's anger. She resolved anew to fight her attraction to Bean. Despite her fear that she would ask him too many questions, she had no desire to ask a single one at the moment. The tension between them was thick enough as it was.

Bean reclined his seat back and put one ankle on the opposite knee, folding his arms with a creak of heavy leather. Rally shifted and looked out the passenger window. Perhaps he was thinking along the same lines as she was— _this is hazardous, this is not compatible with my way of life or my philosophy or with my best friends or best enemies, so I will have to ignore it as well as I can, or failing that, rip it up into shreds and flush it… _Her cell phone vibrated. "Yes?" she said, taking it out of her jacket.

"Hey, sweetie! How's it going?"

"Waiting for Smith to radio. Nothing to report yet…nothing at all." Rally took a glance at Bean, who seemed to be ignoring the conversation. "How about you?"

"I'm in the private bathroom of a _very_ nice Triad-owned nightclub! The manager's private bathroom! How's that for making contact?"

"Oooh! Sounds promising."

"You betcha! We rented a tux and a Rolls for Roy and he looks totally sharp—he's my bodyguard—and i _I_ am the well-known courtesan coming out of retirement! It's Saturday night and the moon is out! We're making a big splash in the Frisco nightlife! I spotted two old customers of mine the moment I got us past the doorman!"

"Wow!"

"They are all being so sweet to me! I think I can get the conversation going the way I want pretty soon—though you don't just come out and ask, 'where is the fugitive leadership of the Eight Dragon Triad hanging out these days?'" May snickered.

"Be careful there, girl! Did you two clear this operation with—"

"Smith? Uh, no, we didn't."

"Why not? Isn't Roy—oh."

"Yeah, like that. Consulting the FBI about his every move, when he's been a cop for twenty-eight years? I know you're getting along pretty well with Smith, at least, but Roy is about at the end of his rope with them. I'm really happy we thought of something independent for him to do—he's brightened up some. Getting into it, with a 'dese, dem, dose' accent and everything!"

"I am SO glad to hear that, sweetie! Keep me posted."

"Oh, I will. Call you when I have something—assuming you aren't in the middle of something else more important! Say…nothing to report? Do you mean that in the way—"

"Yes, I do. It's, uh, totally quiet around here."

"Oookaayy… talk to you later." May clicked off and Rally put the phone away, still set on vibrate. Bean began to crack walnuts.

"Um…so, did you want to know why May called me?" Rally ventured. Bean shrugged. "Well, she's checking Triad haunts for clues to where the Dragons are hiding. I might get another call soon."

He grunted and crunched nuts between his teeth.

Rally sighed and tapped her fingers. Some time passed without another word, the silence growing larger and heavier. She considered and discarded several opening gambits, ranging from the Charger to the week's changeable weather to the operation itself.

Eventually she settled for leaning her head back against the seat and looking at Bean, trying to use ESP to gauge his state of mind. She didn't make headway. The light was dim, streetlight mixed with moonlight, and few headlights came along the street. Bean was an outline, hair slicked back and jacket collar pulled up, his wraparound mirrored sunglasses concealing his eyes.

"So…where did you get that mid-year?" she finally asked. "That one I saw you driving?"

"Want ad," said Bean through a mouthful of walnuts.

"Oh, like the Honda? I figured it couldn't be from a dealership…not with an all-cash purchase that large."

"Nope."

"What happened to the rest of the cash? The half million? That wasn't a cheap car, but it wouldn't have cost i _that_ much. I'd appreciate it if you'd give the FBI the $250,000 you agreed—"

"Lost it."

"What?" said Rally in disbelief. "Down a sewer?"

"Close."

"Excuse me?"

"In Vegas."

Her mouth dropped open. "You lost all that money playing the machines?"

"Craps," corrected Bean.

"You lost all that money at CRAPS? Four hundred large, more or less?"

"Three hundred and twenty-two, five hundred. And change."

"You…you just threw it all away? After insisting it was all yours and fighting over the split until the last minute?" Rally sat up. "That money you 'sure could use'? That Brown owed you by right? That you _stole_ from me?"

"Yep."

"What, because it was stolen? You actually felt bad about stealing it?"

Bean shrugged.

"Well, that absolutely takes the cake," said Rally after a moment, giving her door an exasperated whack. "Of all the things you could have done with it…"

Bean grunted and leaned his head on one hand, massaging his temples as if he felt a migraine coming on. "I got fifty-seven thousand, four hundred and eighty-nine left out've it." He felt in a pocket and dropped a key on the console. "Safe deposit box, main Bank of America branch on Market. The number's on the tag."

Rally looked at the key and put it in her jacket. "So you owe me, or the FBI…uh, one hundred and ninety-two thousand, five hundred and eleven."

"Yep."

"Manichetti told me that the other half million, the cash we saw in Brown's office, is hidden somewhere and that only he knows where it is. That's the money the Dragons think i _I_ have, and when the FBI finds it, they're going to keep it."

"Yeah."

"How are you going to come up with that kind of dough?"

Bean shrugged.

"Wonderful. You do realize I'm in dutch over that?"

Bean grunted.

Rally sighed. "Why hasn't the Triad come after me yet? Why did I have to walk in their front door to tangle with them? They think I have half a million of theirs, and right now I bet they could use every bit of loose cash, having lost their HQ because of me, and 426 may even think I shot Huang to death. Why don't I see Dragons every time I turn around?"

"Dunno."

"Oh, that's i _so_ helpful, Bean." _Jerk! Dice-throwing idiot! Who would ever want to fantasize about YOU?_

"Sorry."

Rally groaned irritably. "I see, you don't want to talk to me. I am just a royal pain in the butt you have to tolerate because you did me so wrong and you owe me big. I know you hate carrying debts, so naturally you'd resent whoever holds your marker for the better part of two hundred grand. Well, fine. Don't talk to me." She opened the door and got out of the car with the idea of stretching her legs.

"Thanks for talkin' to me this morning," said Bean quietly.

"Oh…uh, sure." Her own resentment suffered a setback. "You're welcome."

"Why'd you let me go when you saw me on the road with the 'Vette? When I'd just tried to kill you and yer partner?"

Rally put her hands on the top of the open door, resting her chin on them and gazing across the street. "Uh…I guess, because I knew you were going to find out you were wrong. I thought it might help you realize it sooner. Before you went and joined the Triad or something. Did some more things you might come to regret, or…or got killed by 426."

"Ya cared about that?"

"Of course I did. I wanted to give you a chance to think it over. Did it help?" She bent to look at Bean as he still sat behind the wheel of the Charger.

"Yeah. Not right away, but it all kinda fell into place. 426 knew about your rifle, and I remembered you hadn't ever had it out've the trunk, and then I kinda…" He looked at the scabbed knuckles on his right hand.

"Oh! Of course, O'Toole saw my arsenal when he jimmied the lock and put the suitcase in! He was the only person other than you and May who knew those guns were there." She took a look at her rifle in the back seat; she had finally decided to put it into action since she was basically a deputized FBI agent, and Smith had not objected. "He went straight to the Dragons when he thought Brown was dead, and he told them everything he knew."

"Yeah. He was a gabbler. I gotta tell you something, Vincent. I told 426 you did Huang."

"You did?"

"Yep." Bean took off his sunglasses, slowly, and met her eyes. "He asked me and I told him. I still thought you might've done it to shut Huang up, and that's what I said. Seemed like he already thought so anyway—guess O'Toole told him it was your bullet, but I think I must've confirmed it for him. Like, now he's got no doubt."

"Oh…my God."

"I know there ain't no way to even out somethin' like that, Vincent, and I never should've opened my fool mouth. I know ya never meant to kill the guy. It was an accident an' all."

"But…I didn't do it."

"What?"

"I didn't do it. Huang was not killed by a bullet from my gun. It was a .32, but the ballistics tests proved it wasn't from my gun."

Bean's eyes narrowed, brows descending, and a snarl lifted the corner of his lip. "That little shit of a Mick."

"Exactly."

"Well, that ain't so bad then." His snarl began to relax. "426'll have seen the test results too, and he'll know it wasn't you. The Mick's dead already, so—"

"He hasn't seen the results."

"Hey, that guy gets all the info he wants."

"Not this particular bit. The FBI hasn't disclosed the results even to me—I only know it because May stole a copy of the report from Wesson, who was hiding it. Not even Smith knows yet. I've done my best to hint to Smith that he should investigate, but the rescue is much more on his mind right now. I really doubt that 426 knows I'm innocent. If that would even make a difference to him."

Bean's gaze slid away from hers, his teeth clenching. "Damn," he said, lips barely moving.

"Bean…if O'Toole told him the same thing, it's not like it's your fault 426 blames Huang's death on me."

"You let me figure what's my damn fault on my own, Vincent."

"OK, you feel guilty on your own agenda, then! The way you rank your priorities—you don't seem to think that threatening to kill someone over money is any problem at all!"

"I told you, the rules—"

"Yeah, the _rules_." Rally sighed. "It's not like anyone ever taught you better morals than the underground street code." She had to get off this subject, or she would start interrogating him about his past and probably destroy whatever communication they had now. "Is O'Toole really dead? It occurred to me…he wouldn't necessarily have been asked about Brown's houses, not until they lost their HQ. I know Brown had good security systems—O'Toole put them in. Would the Dragons have risked breaking into this house and setting off alarms? Doesn't it make more sense…that O'Toole is still alive, and was able to disarm the systems for them, or at least tell them how?"

"Alive? When a gas tank blew between his legs?" Bean made a snorting, ironic laugh in his throat. "Don't think I'd i _want_ to be alive after that!"

"He wasn't at the scene of the crash. The cops didn't see him. The Dragons left their dead behind on the night of the fire. The only reason they would have picked O'Toole up, since he wasn't exactly an elite member, was that he was still alive."

She saw Bean grimace, his teeth showing white in the darkness. "Not that I'm cryin' about it, but he ain't in real good shape, if he's still kickin'."

"No. He's not going to make any more moves in this game. I don't think. Though he might be recovering somewhere under the Dragons' protection."

"Yeah, or they might've just beat it out've him and tossed him in a ditch somewhere."

"I would not put anything past 426," said Rally. "The stories Larry Sam's been telling to Smith…"

"I heard some about him, calling around. Like, he don't care if he kills kids." Bean showed his teeth again. "More like, he gets off on killin' kids."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Bean cracked his knuckles and picked at a scab. "But he'll kill anybody, naturally, and he does it nice and slow any chance he gets. Electricity and blowtorches and piano wire, stuff like that. Got lots'a gadgets that he makes for the purpose—a real handyman. His rep alone makes the other Chink gangs get the hell out've the way."

"But you… Bean, did you think you were going to have to stay behind while I escaped?" Rally sat in the car again and turned to him. "In the Dragon's parking garage, when you got me my gun? When you knew what 426 was like? Did you figure you would I _exchange_ yourself for me? _What if they'd captured you alive?"_

Bean shrugged, still picking at scabs and rubbing a little of his blood into his fingertips.

"Oh, come on! Talk to me!"

"Wasn't like I was gonna figure all that into it. It had to get done, so I did it."

Rally covered her mouth, taking a gasping breath. Forgiving him for what he'd said? It was beginning to look distinctly inadequate. "Bean, did I thank you for saving my life?"

"Yeah, but I was just coverin' my obli—"

"Thank you for saving my life, Bean. I bet they were going to try to find out where that missing money was, too, weren't they?"

"Yep. When I called in, they said you were there, and that no one was gonna get to kill you 'til 426 got the info. The guys were supposed to soften you up first, but that was it. I said OK, I understood, so when I made like I was gonna shoot you, they figured I was just jokin' around. Like, playin' a mock execution before gettin' the ball rollin'—uh, so to speak."

"O'Toole didn't think so."

"Nah, I guess they didn't tell the Mick much." Bean laughed quietly.

"So you not only saved me from gang-rape, you saved me from being tortured to death by a man who really enjoys his job and thought I'd killed his young lover!"

"Lover?" Bean's tone expressed mild derision. "The Chink's a faggot, huh?"

Rally's rising opinion of him suffered a slight puncture, and she touched a couple of knuckles to her mouth, trying to phrase it correctly. "Bean, I am only going to tell you this once more. I don't like all those racial slurs and other impolite terms you use. I understand that's just the way you talk, and I doubt you actually care enough about what other people are, or do, to be a genuine racist or gay-hater or anything, but I don't like it. O'Toole called me a—a Paki, and I have to admit I'm a little sensitive about that kind of thing."

"Oh. Uh…what's that mean, anyway?"

"It's a crude way of saying Pakistani, which is what my father is." Bean did not seem to link the name to anything with which he was familiar, looking from side to side and squinting as if at a very fuzzy mental map of the world. "Pakistan. It's between India and Afghanistan and Iran and it has a northeastern border with China. South Asia?" He shrugged. "Never mind. He was born in England anyway."

"Other side of the freakin' planet, lady. I'll stick with the States." He looked out the windshield with the hint of a sigh. "Chicago, if I got my druthers."

"I sympathize, Bean, because I want to go home too!" Impulsively, without thinking, Rally patted his shoulder. He turned his head abruptly and their eyes met. Even in the darkness, she could see the startled question in his expression.

The last time she had touched him had been with a fierce slap in the face, her lips still tingling from the impact of his. Instantly she withdrew her hand, face burning. "Ah…uh…"

She looked away, hearing Bean let out a breathy sigh. Rattled, and resigned too. At least he knew the score, because she was blowing hot and cold on him again. Rally gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. Hadn't she made a decision here? That no matter how disturbing she found him, she wouldn't let it affect her judgment? He was as out of bounds as he had ever been—more so. When she opened her eyes, the radio light was on.

"Oops!" Rally picked up the handset. "Batmobile!"

"You falling asleep there?" said Smith. "It's nine P.M. and we're making our move. We got the code words, we got the actor to do the voice, and 426 bit the bait. He's promised it's just negotiation, but naturally we know better. Wesson and Manichetti are heading to the meeting place he specified, as are a phalanx of agents. When I call you next, it's H-hour."

"We're ready." Rally loosened her CZ75 in the holster; she had not been able to replace the lost spare mag with another pre-ban 15-rounder, so she had two nine-rounders in addition to the full-size one already in the butt.

"We're ready," echoed Wojohowicz over the radio. "We can roll any time."

"Good," said Smith "Hold that thought."

Rally's cell phone rang again. "It's me," said May's voice. "We switched nightclubs, at the invitation of one of my old customers…and we have struck gold!"

"Great! You're just in time!"

"What?" said Smith.

"That's May on my cell." Rally tucked the phone between jaw and shoulder. "We're getting ready to go, May. What have you heard?"

"I know where 426 is! I recognized him from your description!"

"What the hell is she doing?" barked Smith. "Where the hell is she?"

"In a nightclub with Roy. You saw 426, May? Where?"

"Halfway across the room! He came in and sat down not five minutes ago! I scuttled to the can as soon as I could!"

"What? Oh, my God! May, the decoy operation is going down right where you are! Get out of there!"

"Huh?" said May and Smith simultaneously.

"Wesson and Manichetti are going to meet 426 there! It could be BAD!"

"But…but it's going to attract attention if I just pack up and go! I've been the belle of the room ever since I got here! 426 doesn't know me anyway."

"Don't be so sure! He's got good information, according to Bean, and…look, a Dragon saw you in Buttonkettle, when he put the tracer in the Cobra! Probably Huang! 426 KNOWS who you are!"

"Oh, shit!" Rally could hear May's breathing accelerate. "OK, OK—I have to contact Roy!" She clicked off.

Rally let out a shaky breath. "Oh, damn." She put the phone away and touched a hand to her forehead. "Please, let them get out of there all right…"

"I'll second that!" bellowed Smith. "They could fuck this whole thing up! Why the hell didn't they clear this stunt with me? That halfwit bumbler of a so-called police detective! I'm going to have his balls on a plate!"

"It's my fault, Pete! I suggested it! There is nothing we can do about it right now from where we are, so I'd suggest you calm down!"

"Aw, _Christ_! I thought you had some SENSE!" Smith seemed to be winding down, but his voice still grated on her ears. "Sending that little baby girl out on a sniffing expedition! Sweet fucking Jeezus…"

"OK, Agent, if you've yelled enough by now, go get a cup of coffee or something and think over the next move! Talk to us when you have something useful to say—like, 'Go for the house'!"

"Rrrr…"

"Oh, and tell me the code words before you sign off!"

"Uh…aw, crap…Lin is his name. Lin Shaoqi—that's 'shouw-chur', more or less, and he has sometimes gone by 'Alexander Lin'. Straight from Larry Sam."

"Thanks, Pete. Over and out!" Rally put the handset down and scribbled the name in her notebook. "Alexander? Like, the conqueror of the known world? Don't sell yourself short, Lin Shaoqi!"

"The squirt's catchin' Dragons?" said Bean. "Shee-it."

"Neither of us had any idea that 426 would go nightclubbing right now! Why did he pick that for a meeting place? Oh…probably because it's Triad turf, so Brown won't try anything funny. Best he could do for now." Rally closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, lacing her fingers and stretching her arms out to relax her tensing muscles. "I did not need to find this out right before we have to go…"

Bean grunted.

"No, I am not so worried that I'm going to fall down on the job! That's not your concern anyway. All you have to do is drive." Rally checked her guns and flipped the CZ75's safety on and off.

"Yep."

The radio light blinked and Smith came in again. "I've warned everyone about Coleman and your partner. No word from them?"

"No. I'd imagine they are sweating pretty hard right now."

"Serves 'em damn right. We'll do what we can to help. May not be much."

"That's honest of you."

"I got to call it the way I see it. Bean there?"

"Sure. Where else?"

"Put him on."

Rally passed Bean the handset, then put on a small radio headset and tested her channel to Furillo and Wojohowicz. "Batmobile."

"Adam-12," said Wojohowicz. "Roger."

"You want to say somethin', Smith?" said Bean.

"Bandit, I'm sure Miss Rally has told you I'm not going to arrest you. This time."

"Yeah."

"That promise will hold, in my case, for twenty-four hours after this operation terminates. Get the hell out of my territory before that deadline expires. Understand?"

"I heard you."

"And you do not give a shit." Smith chuckled. "I knew that. Just giving you fair warning. I like to play by the rules."

"Fine with me." Bean gave the handset back to Rally.

"OK, the task force is at the nightclub," said Smith. "Wesson and Manichetti both have wires, so I can monitor every word. Listen up."

"Roger."

"They are past the doorman—big tip from Wesson. My poor goddamn budget…ha. They see 426 with three flunkies."

"How about May and Roy?"

"Not yet…no. Your friends are not in the main room."

"Whew."

"426 sees Wesson. Now's the moment of truth." There was a tense silence, which drew out like a held breath. "He seems to buy it. He thinks it's his good friend. They're still fifty feet away in a dim club. Obviously they can't get much closer without trouble, so here's where the dance begins. Keep your fingers crossed, because Bob's going to need all the luck he can get. 426 is signaling to his flunkies and speaking into a cell. Everyone's getting up."

Bean cracked his knuckles.

"OK, we've intercepted his call…translator's speaking—he's ordering every Dragon in the area to converge on the nightclub. We'll wait for them to assemble, and come down on 'em like a ton of bricks! We have them! This is the last of the Eight Dragon Triad!"

"Yes!" Rally pumped a fist in the air. "It worked!"

"OK, give 'em five minutes to get on the road—mark."

"Mark." She let the seconds tick off, heart accelerating. Four minutes, three, two, one. This was it!

"You are cleared for action, Adam-12, Batmobile," came Smith's voice at last. "Dragons concentrating in Chinatown! The biggest fucking bust in my fucking career!"

"Adam-12 in action," said Furillo.

"Batmobile in action." Rally sprang out and slung her shotgun.

"Hit 'em hard, sugar. Godspeed." Smith signed off.

* * *

Rally stepped lightly to the top of a plastic garbage can and boosted herself over the gate at the side of Brown's house. On the other side were more garbage cans, in the parking area in front of the huge detached garage, but the drop was only eight feet, so she landed softly with bent knees and went into a defensive crouch. 

The Bugatti was here, and the Diablo, and a number of other cars more notable for expensive design than engineering. On the other side of the house, she heard a slight sound—Furillo and Wojohowicz breaking in. All the windows facing her were dark and curtained. Rally kept low and scrambled for the cellar door in the rear.

This was a venerable house, going on a hundred years old—it had sunken basement windows in a stone foundation and a slanted pair of wooden doors over a large exterior cellar opening. It was locked, as she had figured, and she waited until she heard three quick taps over her earphone. Three quick taps back were answered by one.

Rally knocked gently on the cellar door with her shotgun butt and flattened against the wall of the house, partially concealed by a bush. Someone unlocked the door from inside and eased the right-hand one open an inch. Rally grabbed the handle and yanked it, exposing a surprised young Vietnamese with a Glock-7.

Before he could yell, she jumped out and rammed her shotgun butt at his face, hitting square. He grunted and fell halfway out the opening, his gun skiddering across the concrete of the parking area. Rally chopped the edge of her hand at the nerve point at the base of his neck, and he went limp.

She bound his wrists with a plastic flex, taped his mouth, turned on the tactical light attached to her ten-gauge and aimed the shotgun through the cellar door, moving slowly to avoid creaking the wooden stairs. At the same time, the two black-clad FBI agents advanced down the kitchen stairs with their own tactical lights, and they and Rally moved between piled boxes and gardening equipment towards the concrete-block-walled section of the basement Manichetti had drawn on his house map.

It had one door, one barred window, and a dirt floor. Built as a cell, apparently, more recently than the field-stone basement walls. She didn't want to think about what Brown had done with a cell in his basement.

She could smell something already—the pit toilet the guards had dug in the floor to avoid using the water and setting off the utility meters. The whole basement reeked of it. Rally wrinkled her nose and pointed to the hinge side of the inward-opening door.

Furillo took up position where she had indicated, his shotgun ready, and Wojohowicz stealthily placed a microphone on the lower part of the door. Listening for about sixty seconds, she moved her eyes back and forth, then nodded, gave Rally a thumbs-up and moved behind Furillo, drawing her ten-millimeter. Rally crouched and counted down with three upraised fingers. Index, middle, ring—

WHAM! Furillo kicked the door open, yelling "FBI! FBI!" and Rally rolled inside, immediately followed by the agents.

BOOM! Furillo fired a baton round at one of two startled guards who rose from chairs drawn up to a battery-operated television set. The mother and child huddled on a cot, ankles and wrists duct-taped, and the other guard lay on a cot at the opposite end of the room.

BOOM! Rally fired her own baton round at the other television watcher and pumped the grip. She had one baton more in the magazine, and then buck loads. Both guards were struck, and fell gasping. The one who had been lying down lunged up, yanking out an automatic as Rally swung the shotgun to the right and reached into her jacket, her CZ75 flashing out almost too quickly to be seen, aiming and pulling the trigger in one smooth movement.

KRAK KRAK said the CZ75 as Wojohowicz flung herself at the cot where the mother and child lay, shielding them with her body. It was a gallant but unnecessary act, for the gunman had already lost his right thumb to a nine-millimeter. He dropped his gun and screamed, and both Furillo and Rally nailed him with baton rounds.

"FBI rescue squad!" said Wojohowicz to the hostages. "We're here to free you!" She ripped their bonds with a knife and jammed it back into her ankle sheath as Rally and Furillo secured the guards. "Put these on!" Unlimbering a backpack, she gave Sarah Brown a Kevlar vest and pulled a small one over Tiffany Brown's head.

Rally took a quick look at them; she recognized both from the photograph in Bean's wallet, though Tiffany had filled out a little. Beautiful blond woman, her loveliness nearly unmarred by dirt and tear-streaks, and a pretty, rosy child wearing a torn dress. Their eyes were wide, the mother's fearful and the girl's sparkling with excitement.

Rally smiled at them. "Let's go!"

Wojohowicz picked Tiffany up. "I want Baby Bear!" the girl yelled, struggling. "Rescue Baby Bear too!"

"What?"

"Baby Bear!" She pointed at a stuffed animal under the cot. Rally picked it up and tossed it to her, then led the way to the cellar stairs, Wojohowicz carrying Tiffany and the girl cradling her teddy.

With a careful scan through the dark yard, Rally waved the group up the stairs. Furillo split off from them and headed up the block to his car, and the women dashed across the street to the Charger with the little girl.

Bean turned on the ignition as they approached but not the headlights, to avoid spotlighting them. On the flat roof, the two lookouts yelled and wildly fired shotguns, pellets zipping through the air.

Rally turned and fired her ten-gauge. BOOM! BOOM! The huge buck loads broke a third-floor window, scarred the parapet and peppered the lookouts. They dropped behind the parapet, yelping. Wojohowicz hustled the Browns into the back seat, buckled them up and piled in as Rally got into the front passenger seat.

Almost before the doors were closed, Bean leaped the Hemi Charger out of the driveway with a tremendous roar—425 horsepower nearly taking them airborne as the equivalent torque grabbed the wheels.

Rally struggled to fasten her seatbelt and took her prized SIG SSG 551-P sniper rifle from Wojohowicz as the Charger landed in the street and swerved left. Twenty rounds in the translucent plastic magazine and twenty more in each of two other clips secured to the sides of the first—it was possible that a mile-and-a-half ride would require more than sixty shots, but it seemed unlikely.

Rally rolled down the window and checked the view through the starlight scope. Nearly as clear as day. They were still accelerating, Bean aiming the Charger down a hill, and suddenly took another left at about ninety. SKREE! sang the tires. Bean pulled the wheel around and back in a swift, even motion, letting it spin through his gloved hands with a whistling note barely audible over the engine's massive sound.

They had a pursuer, taking the turn after them—no, two. One BMW Z3, one Porsche 911. That was it. The Dragons had been caught flat-footed with the decoy operation going on at the same time! Just as intended!

Rally picked up the radio handset to report in to Smith. "Batmobile to Commissioner. We're on the road, with two bogies on our six. All personnel intact!"

"Good!" replied Smith. "Adam-12 reports two on his tail as well. We're moving cars to intercept him. You are running free!"

"Batarangs away," said Rally, sighting on the right front tire of the Z3 and squeezing the trigger. KRAK! Her .223 penetrated the tire—to no visible effect. "What? Oh, boy! Run-flats!"

She peered through the scope again. Driver, one passenger, the Z3 taking swerving evasion and falling behind. The passenger slid a rifle out the window and fired at the Charger. ZIIP! The bullet skimmed the roof with a whining scrape. "Shit! I'm going to have to fire at the people, not just the car!" The mother hugged her little girl tightly, squeezing the teddy bear between them.

"Baby Bear feels squished!" Tiffany complained.

"You ain't tellin' me you got a _problem_ here?" said Bean.

"No." Rally gritted her teeth, sighted, and fired twice. KRAK KRAK! The Z3's windshield exploded, the driver's arm flinging over his eyes and the car veering wildly. The passenger dropped his rifle, grabbed the wheel, and coasted to a stop as the 911 passed the BMW. Headlights coming up the street towards them. Civilians or otherwise? Probably otherwise, but she couldn't shoot unless she knew for sure!

"Out of the game?" said Bean, looking in his rear-view and pressing the accelerator, taking the Charger up to about a hundred and thirty on the straightaway.

"Glass in the eyes, I think!" Rally aimed at the Porsche just as Bean took a third left to avoid the three oncoming cars. KRAKKRAKKRAK! Three-round horizontal burst into a single tire—it might have been run-flat or not, but a trio of .223s would blow anything! It exploded and flapped, and the Porsche, trying to make the turn, ran up on the curb and slammed into a parked car.

The oncoming cars overshot the intersection and pulled spinning reverses to make the turn, hurtling after the Charger. More Dragons, for certain! Rally put the crosshairs of the starlight scope on them. SKREEE! Bean took a right at about a hundred miles an hour, tires screaming, and she held her fire until she would have a clear shot again. The radio light blinked.

"Problem," said Smith. "Wesson is blown already!"

"What?"

"He was going to keep his distance and draw the Dragons outside where the other agents could take over. Didn't work! 426 was pretty suspicious, it seems, got too close, realized it wasn't kosher, and there's a firefight going on inside! No one's seen your friends, inside or out!"

"Oh…shit."

"You do what you need to do! But expect every damn Dragon in the city on your ass, because 426 is issuing orders to that effect!"

"All right, we will!" KRAK KRAKRAKKRAK! The lead BMW approached; she took windshield and front tire out, and it hit a tree and flipped. The next car hit it as it tumbled across the road, and the third slowed and evaded the pileup. The buildings changed from expensive houses to ground-floor stores and apartment buildings.

Bean roared up a precipitous hill, the third car gaining as the Charger slowed on the slope, and dodged cross traffic at a lighted intersection. These streets were narrow four-laners, rutted and patched, with cable car tracks in the center and the curbs lined solid with parked cars. They came out at the top of the hill at high speed, barely missing a Muni bus, and jumped the crosswalk with a crash, suspension nearly bottoming out. The Dragons followed at a prudent distance.

"Oh…Oh, my GOD!" screamed Sarah Brown. "H-he's insane! This driver is a crazy man! Stop! I want to get out!"

"Calm down, ma'am," said Wojohowicz, smiling at the back of Bean's head. "My boss says he knows what he's doing, and he ought to know!" Rally wasn't entirely sure where they were, keeping her concentration on the remaining pursuer. The passenger had a cell phone pressed to his ear and an automatic in his right hand. Descending an equally precipitous downslope, Bean wove through traffic and scraped the tailpipes at every flat-graded intersection.

"Shocks are about gone," he said, and took a right. "This jalopy's gonna need a real restore job! Too much engine for the suspension!"

"You still aiming for the staging area? This is way out of the cleared zone!"

"We're a little out of our way," said Bean, grinning. "Headin' in the right direction, though. This is turning out kinda fun." He skimmed the shoulder of the hill and blasted through knots of traffic, horns honking at him. The pursuer stayed back, the passenger still calling in their location, and Rally grimaced. Far too many civilians around for gunplay!

"I get the feeling we're going to have some more company in no time," she said. "Did you do that on _purpose_?"

"More the merrier." Bean applied the brakes as the traffic grew thick. Rally felt a slip in the mechanism and shot a look at him. "Yeah, they're balky, like Smith said. Oughta hold out for a while."

"They'd better! You overconfident—!"

"Me, overconfident?" Bean looked at the rear-view. "We got two more, babe. Rockin'!"

"Where are we going?" said Tiffany's small voice, not sounding particularly frightened. "I like going fast."

Rally saw Bean grin slightly in the rear-view. "So do I, kid."

"This is too much!" wailed Sarah. "This isn't safe! I want to get out of this car!"

"I want to ride some more!" said Tiffany. "Baby Bear likes going fast, too." She held her teddy bear up to the window. "Look at the stuff going by fast!"

"Aaaahhh!" shrieked her mother, flattening on the seat as Bean swerved violently to the left to avoid another Muni bus and slipped between it and a panel truck. "Aaaaahh! We're all going to die!"

"Be quiet, ma'am," said Wojohowicz, sounding nearly as excited as the girl. "Not too much farther. Here, while we can—change clothes with me."

"E-excuse me?" stammered Sarah.

"To confuse the Dragons about which is which, dear. Just in case. You take my fatigues." Wojohowicz began to unzip her jumpsuit.

Sarah looked the muscular, broad-shouldered FBI agent up and down. "Uh…my blouse and slacks are awfully dirty…"

"Come on, lady, strip!" shouted Rally, looking in the back. "She doesn't care!"

Bean raised his brows with a smile as both women shed their clothes down to underwear and re-dressed in each other's clothes. Wojohowicz wore a beige sports bra and briefs, her abdominals washboard-tight, and Sarah Brown had a slim, creamy-skinned body, her perfect breasts cradled in an deep-scooped pink lace underwire bra. Her panties were a little more modest, but nearly exposed the crack of her behind. Bean checked the mirrors, grinning at every flash of bare skin.

"Hey! Eyes on the road!"

He laughed, darting a sly look at Rally. "This job's got some perks!"

"Lech!" she spluttered.

He kept laughing. "Jealous, babe?"

"Bean!" yelled Rally suddenly, pointing at two large dark cars that converged on an intersection directly ahead of them. "They're going to T-bone us!" Bean seemed to make a lightning calculation and pumped the brakes. SKREE! SKREEEEE! The Charger stopped reluctantly, pulling slightly to the right, and Bean reversed, steering right and making a 180 in the street. The two Dragons followed, and the car that had been pursuing roared towards them.

Would they be trapped between the three? The car ahead started a J-turn, obviously to block them, and Bean swerved right, two wheels jumping the curb, and squeezed by. A pair of SFPD patrol cars approached, sirens going; Bean split the lane between them and cracked off their rear-view mirrors as he went by.

"Pete!" Rally yelled into the radio. "Call off the cops! We're way outside the designated zone and they don't realize we're with the FBI!"

"Yeah, I know!" shouted Smith. "We got a hostage situation at the nightclub! I'm heading out there right now! I'll do what I can, but—" He broke off and she heard him yelling at someone else. "Faster, dammit! You call yourself a driver!"

"Hostage? Who—?"

"Your damn kid partner! There's a gun at her head!"

"May's been taken HOSTAGE! What about Roy?"

"Coleman's down, they say."

"What? Is he _dead_?"

"Don't know—"

"Vincent!" said Bean, pointing out the windshield. Another pair of Dragons approaching! Someone was calling this chase pretty well! Already they were too close for tire shots, the line obstructed by the Charger's bulging hood. KRAK KRAK! Rally angled the rifle out the window and shot twice across the hood, then swung her aim to the right and fired again. KRAK KRAK!

The driver of the left-hand car grabbed his shoulder and veered. The other car aimed at their front right despite a blown-out windshield; Bean swerved to the left into the space Rally had made for him and scraped past the Dragon. BRAAAP! Wojohowicz pushed Sarah and Tiffany down and shielded them as the rear-seat passenger blasted away with an Uzi.

Both of the Charger's rear passenger windows blew out. One of the pursuing Dragons took advantage of the slowdown and roared up on their rear left quarter, nosing to the right and pushing with his heavy Mercedes. Bean stepped on the gas to about seventy miles per hour and slipped out of range, but the passenger began to fire. BKAM! BKAM! Heavy reports, a .44 magnum aimed at their rear tires.

Bean jerked the car back and forth, avoiding the shots, and Rally pulled her rifle in again, switching her grip and shoving it between the front seats, resting the barrel on the frame of the blown-out left rear passenger window. KRAK! She took out the windshield, but the S500 paralleled them again, the passenger aiming the .44 magnum revolver at the engine compartment. Bean braked and fell back, his left front just overlapping their rear right, and slewed to the left, ramming steadily.

The S500's rear began to slide, then the car spun out of control and into the opposing traffic as Bean straightened his path. KRASSH! A taxicab hit the S500 broadside. Three Dragons followed them now, strung out in a line, and Bean took a right, then another a block later, getting back on course.

The Charger's brakes began to fade badly, the calipers screeching and juddering, and Bean sideswiped a parked car on the second corner, the Charger understeering despite his iron grip on the wheel. "Shit," he muttered. For the first time, Rally thought she saw a hint of doubt on his face.

"Pete?" said Rally into the radio. "How is—"

"Can't talk!" yelled Smith. "426's escaping! Take care of your end!"

Two more SFPD cars took a corner and roared up behind them, between the Charger and the Dragons. "Oh, shit!" Rally frantically changed frequencies on the radio and picked up the police dispatcher.

"Perp headed east on Pine! All units—"

"Walnut-47, in pursuit!"

"Bravo-151, in pursuit! It's THAT ASSHOLE WITH THE JAW!"

"THE FUCKWAD WITH THE RED CAR! IT'S HIM!" yelled the first car.

"Shit! KILL him!" said another cop.

"Nail his ass to the WALL!" someone else shouted. "The motherfucker wrecked a couple dozen units! Let's show him what the San Francisco Police Department is made of!"

"Black Charger, license plate B-A-D-C-A-T-Z! Rolling roadblock! Go!"

"This is the Charger!" interjected Rally. "FBI operation! Hostage rescue! Back off!"

"What the fuck?" Two more SFPD cars fell in behind them.

"Stuff it, lady! This is the SFPD! You and your asshole boyfriend are TOAST! Pull over!"

One car tried to push into their rear left quarter, its reinforced bumper scraping theirs, but Bean swerved and evaded it.

"We've got armed gang pursuit and a child in the car!" screamed Rally. "FUCKING BACK OFF!"

"Huh?" yelped a cop. "A kid?"

Bean's face had gone savage; he lashed the Charger's rear into the pursuing police car. Two more police cars falling in behind!

"Don't believe her!" said a furious voice. "She's fucking with you! He's trying to bash us!"

"All units, observe department pursuit policy!" said the dispatcher.

The closest police car tried to push the Charger again. Bean let off the gas, fell back, rammed the wheel to the left and sent the police car into a spin. Another hit it, the others zooming past followed by the three Dragons.

"Bean, NO! Don't mess with the cops!"

"Then get 'em the HELL out of my way!" he yelled back.

"Grind him into paste!" squawked the radio in a chorus of voices. "He crippled Tony White! He—"

"Back off! Back off!" yelled Rally in desperation. "FBI operation!"

"All units, break off pursuit!" said the dispatcher. "The Charger is undertaking an FBI operation! This is straight from the Chief! Repeat, break off pursuit!"

"Thank you, Pete!" said Rally.

"Aw, what is this bullshit!"

"Breaking off! Shit!"

"Morales, break off! You heard!"

"Kiss my ass! He just wrecked two more units! That's no FBI car!"

Rally realized that some of the cops had passed the threshold of reason—their high-racing adrenaline had overcome their training, and they were too involved in the chase as a contest. Not to mention the serious grudge they had against Bean! They'd be disciplined later, doubtless, but in the mean time, they were putting both themselves and bystanders into danger. The Dragons began to move up, edging between the police cars as two of them fell back and two kept pursuing.

"Who the hell is that?" yelled a cop.

"Late model BMW 725i—hey, that guy's got a shotgun!" Rally saw the police car's side window blow out with a buck load, and it veered away. One SFPD car still stuck on the Charger's tail, the driver snarling at them, and bashed their rear end.

"Asshole," remarked Bean, and before she could stop him, he let off the gas and slid back along the police car's side. KRAAASSHH! Bean slewed left and sent the car into the opposite lane of traffic. It swerved back on course, barely avoiding a collision, and the driver's partner aimed a shotgun out the window.

"Goddammit, Bean! Don't do that! That's a cop!"

"He's gettin' on my nerves, babe!"

"Just keep your damn temper!" Rally checked the car's number and yelled into the radio. "Bravo-151! There is a child in this car! DON'T SHOOT!"

Tiffany popped her head up to look out the rear. "That's me! I'm a child!" Wojohowicz grabbed her and pulled her back down.

"Pull the fuck over! Pull over!" The three Dragons were still tailing, right behind the police car, and one more, a black Mercedes, came into view in the rear.

"We can't pull over! Those are gang cars full of armed hoods! Talk to your dispatcher! All of your buddies have seen the light!"

"Pull the fuck over!" the driver screamed, trying to get in position to nudge them.

Rally gritted her teeth, put the handset down and aimed the rifle out the window.

"No!" said Agent Wojohowicz in horror. "You can't take out a cop!"

"He's working on taking US out! Look, it's just a warning shot! I'm not going to shoot a cop, no matter how much of a jerk he is!" Rally sighted and fired twice. The police car's side-view mirrors shattered, and she grabbed the handset again. "Back off! Goddammit, I am serious! You are interfering with an official FBI operation! You do NOT know who you are tangling with here!"

"That's for damn sure," muttered Bean, taking a veering left with brakes nearly useless, driving a hazardous wide line through the corner. "We're almost there. Four-five blocks on a straightaway!"

"Thank God! The FBI can take them all on!"

The Charger aimed down a steep hill, Bean downshifting to control his speed. The brakes did nothing. Soon they were going a little too fast for even Rally's comfort, the night whipping by in a blur of lighted windows and stoplights. Bean's hands held the wheel steady, though, steering the car smoothly around every obstacle, so their brakeless condition didn't panic her. Surely he could handle even this situation, though if something unexpected happened, all bets were off.

Suddenly, a Thunderbird pulled out of a bar's driveway fifty feet directly ahead, the driver looking right at them but seemingly not noticing the speeding Charger and its string of pursuers. She must be drunk!

"Bean!" Rally screamed.

He reacted instantly, rolling the wheel over to the left, but the Thunderbird kept pulling out. The driver sat apparently transfixed at the sight of a battered Hemi Charger, a police car and four large dark European sedans bearing down on her at a hundred and fifty miles an hour. The Charger scraped her front end at an angle with a horrendous GRRONCH of ripping metal.

Only the fact that Bean had turned in time saved them from the full deceleration; they kept going, only slightly slowed by the impact, but with bumpers tangled. The Charger skidded, rear end crossing the centerline into the opposite traffic lanes.

Bean began to straighten the wheel, amazingly cool, but the police car hit them and shoved the Charger into an oncoming truck. KRRAAASSHH! The truck struck the rear left quarter at about forty miles per hour and snapped the Charger into a reverse spin. Bean fought the wheel, his passengers thrown back and forth like dolls.

Rally's rifle flew out of her hands and into the foot well. Tiffany's teddy bear shot into the front and bounced off the dash as Wojohowicz slammed into the back of Rally's seat. Rally, forced forward, lost her wind with the impact and gasped, sharp pains jabbing her lungs. "Oww! BEAN!"

He did not reply, steering out of the skid and throwing the gearshift into reverse uphill to avoid the first three Dragons, who were now on top of him and hemming him in. One car passed them and reversed, pinning the Charger against the police car, and the other two roared up to their sides and boxed the Charger in.

One Dragon leaped out of each car, leaving the drivers behind the wheels, and the last car, the black Mercedes, pulled up and stopped behind the police car. Three machine guns aimed at Rally, Bean, and Wojohowicz. They were covered!

"Freeze," said a Dragon, grinning. "Well, well. The Roadbuster! Hands up, cowboy!" Bean looked right and left. "Drop the guns, bitches. Throw 'em out of the car!"

Wojohowicz, looking stunned and groggy, her nose bloody, tossed her ten-millimeter to the asphalt. Rally held no gun, so merely put her hands up, mind racing. The cops crawled out of their passenger door and waved their service automatics, obviously still overwrought from the chase.

"NO! Officer, DON'T—" Rally tried to snatch her CZ75 and aim at the machine guns in time to knock them aside, but she was too late. BBRRAAAPP! Two full-auto blasts caught the hapless cops in the chests and faces, and they fell, badly wounded, but still alive thanks to their body armor. Rally felt the muzzle of a MAC-10 jam against her right temple and raised her hands again.

"Mommy, that's gross," said Tiffany with some interest, peeking out the broken window at the bloodied cops writhing on the street. The drunken woman got out of the Thunderbird and stumbled to the sidewalk, where she vomited.

"Stay down, Tiffany!" hissed Rally.

"Drop the gun, bitch! Throw it out here!" The MAC-10 poked her, and she let the CZ75 fall out the window.

Another man pressed an Uzi into Bean's skull from behind. "Don't you make a _single_ move, Roadbuster! Keep your hands in sight!"

The doors of the Mercedes opened as the Dragon spoke, and a young man got out of the passenger side and stood guard with a MP5K as one more Dragon emerged from the rear passenger seat.

"Sir! We have them! Both the Roadbuster and the bounty hunter, and the hostages as well! The police have withdrawn and our field is clear!"

"So I see." The senior Dragon stood up, the grey in his short hair gleaming silver in the white headlights; he took out a pair of black leather gloves from his suit jacket and put them on with a deliberate, slow, flexing motion of his fingers.

He looked at Rally, then at Bean, who sat with hands outstretched on the wheel, breathing hard through a furious snarl. "Excellent. All the treasure I seek held in one purse, and in my hand. I may not be able to enjoy it for as long as I would wish—not nearly as long as I would wish. Still, you have done well."

He nodded at the men, then turned back to look at his captives, his eyes displaying that quality Rally had described to May. Something almost pure, almost unalloyed: hatred, cold fury, death. 426's eyes were at that moment the windows to his soul, provided a hell like that could be called a soul. If red flames had burned within them, echoing the pictures Rally's mind called up from the depths of her own nightmares, she would not have been surprised.

"I am pleased." And 426 smiled.


	17. Chapter 17

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Seventeen**

"Put the mother and child in my car," said 426, and the Dragons scurried to obey. Wojohowicz grabbed Sarah Brown and dug a hand in the breast pocket of the fatigues she had given to her, taking out a small object. She forced Tiffany's mouth open and put it in, whispering something to her. Tiffany nodded and swallowed.

Two men yanked the Charger's rear doors open and pulled out Wojohowicz and Tiffany while the Dragons holding Bean and Rally at gunpoint kept their positions. The driver of the truck that had hit the Charger started his engine and fled.

The Dragons left Sarah Brown where she was after ripping her child from her arms, the mother crying and half fainting, and pushed Wojohowicz toward the black Mercedes S500. Rally could see the FBI agent's arm muscles tensing below the too-tight silk blouse, and held her breath. What was she likely to do, and could Rally back her up? Her rifle, jammed crosswise under her feet, had so far escaped the Dragons' notice.

"No, the mother!" said 426 in mild irritation. "This woman is not Brown's wife." A Dragon grabbed Wojohowicz and stuck an automatic under her jaw. One more Dragon car, a BMW 540i in dark red, pulled up between the black Mercedes S500 and the police car. The BMW disgorged its armed passenger—now six Dragons held weapons on them, directed by 426.

The drivers of the BMW and of a dark green Lexus LS400 stayed behind the wheel with their weapons, as did the driver of the black S500. The man with the MP5K stood guard over that car. Eleven in all, seven of those deployed around them in a circle. All but their leader wore body armor under suit jackets or over jumpsuits. 426 wore only a dark grey suit and white shirt, blood-red tie and dress shoes, the suit cut loose and unconstricting. "Bind them," he said.

"Leggo me, bad man!" Tiffany fought and kicked, applying her teeth to the hand of the man who held her. The Dragon swore and hit the little girl across the face. She cried out in pain and went limp, sobbing. Rally hissed in horror, then felt rather than heard a vibration beside her, like the beginning of an earthquake: Bean.

Moving only her eyes, she caught his expression, spotlighted by the headlights of the car that pinned the Charger against the police car. Even Brown's child was still a child, obviously. Bean's hands gripped the Charger's wheel so hard she thought he might break it in pieces, his whole body shaking with violent tension.

"Bean!" she whispered. "Wait for—" The MAC-10 at her temple pushed harder, and she closed her lips. But Bean's fury remained in check for the moment, his grip loosening slightly with a noticeable effort.

426 stepped aside to let his men put the tiny girl in the car. Her wavy dark-blonde hair hung over her pale face, and they dumped her on the rear seat and bound her with duct tape, then rolled her into the foot well like a parcel. Rally ground her teeth, trembling. No matter what happened, they couldn't let 426 take Tiffany! Bean's face worked and twitched, his temples and ears turning red.

"My baby! My baby!" cried Sarah Brown as they dragged her from the Charger and bound her wrists behind her. "Please don't hurt my baby! You can do anything to me—let her go!"

"That is up to your husband," replied 426. "The original deadline is still in effect, in spite of the FBI's attempt to deceive me. I consider myself a forbearing man." He looked at his watch. "Nine-twenty-eight P.M. He has sixty-two minutes to reveal himself. After that, I will begin. With her, in front of you, and with a Web-cam broadcast in case your husband does not take me seriously. She is only a child, so will live perhaps half an hour."

He half-smiled, and Rally felt so sick to her stomach she wanted to scream. "You will occupy considerably more time, I anticipate, but of course your husband may interrupt the process before I have time to test that theory. Though if he does not respond to the screams of the child, it is unlikely that he will to the mother's. Only your ghosts will reproach him."

"NO!" shrieked Sarah. "Sly is dead! He can't reveal himself to anyone! For God's sake, have mercy!" She collapsed in tears.

"Yes, that is what you claim, and probably even believe. But I know otherwise!" He gestured, and the Dragons half-carried Sarah to the car as well, buckling a seatbelt around her and binding her ankles. Her piteous sobs and cries tore at Rally's heart, and she could tell that Wojohowicz felt exactly the same. "I must admit I am surprised that no one has heard from him yet. I did not expect that he would be so recalcitrant. But no matter."

426 looked at Rally. "Whether Brown comes forward or not, I have ample material here for my efforts. I assure you, Ms. Vincent, that I will learn where that money is, and I will hold you to account for your crimes." He looked at Wojohowicz. "An FBI agent? She will be useful for all manner of reasons, so I will hold her in reserve." He turned his eyes to Bean. "Roadbuster."

"Don't wear it out," said Bean through stiff lips.

"You have betrayed the trust of the Eight Dragon Triad."

"No shit?"

"No punishment is sufficient. But I will make the attempt anyway. Even if I wished to kill you quickly, Roadbuster, I doubt I would be able." 426 actually laughed.

"You done with the jawbone, Four? Because I'm about to perish of boredom here." Bean yawned. "All talk, like yer pal Brown. Take a shit or get off the crapper."

426 blinked slightly. "Very well." He turned to the Dragon holding Wojohowicz at gunpoint. "We will begin with the women. Remove the bounty hunter from the car first, and if she resists, shoot the agent." He went on in Cantonese, pointing at the dark red BMW.

Wojohowicz's fists clenched at her sides, and she met Rally's eyes with a glance that meant _Don't be timid on my account!_ Rally didn't know Wojohowicz well, but obviously she was a competent and physically trained FBI agent; she felt sure that she could be counted on.

Rally made a slight inclination of the head toward Bean, then at the Mercedes with the hostages. Wojohowicz nodded almost imperceptibly, then slid her eyes right and left at the Dragons. Rally winked, then narrowed her eyes at 426. Wojohowicz pursed her lips; Rally made a tiny shrug.

"Out," said the man with the MAC-10, opening her door. Rally quickly put her feet outside to draw his attention away from the rifle, then bent and caught it up, planting one foot on the ground to push off.

WHAM! She did an upward shoulder ram on her guard, hitting his solar plexus. Bean had already grabbed the Uzi. He pulled it forward and wrenched the weapon from the owner's grasp.

Rally knocked her guard off balance, pushed off him with a flying kick to the crotch and somersaulted backwards to gain some distance. Two other men converged on her and the man holding Wojohowicz cocked his .45. Wojohowicz pretended to faint, pulling her captor down with her, and grabbed his gun, jamming it against his armored chest and firing.

He screamed soundlessly, wind and consciousness pounded out of him, and crumpled to the ground. Bean erupted from the Charger like a volcano, swinging the Uzi by the muzzle and belting its owner with it. Rally landed with rifle aimed, sweeping from left to right. Bean's victim went down with a bloody laceration across his face, nose nearly torn off.

426 bent his knees in a defensive crouch, hands going up in a martial-arts pose, but he did not attack, stepping back from the line of fire with one man on guard in front of him. The driver of the Lexus opened his passenger door and took a shot.

Bean threw the Uzi at him like a boomerang and shattered the window, hitting the driver in the face and knocking him flat on the seat. KRAK KRAK KRAK said Rally's rifle as she shot from the hip, and her first magazine was empty! Her guard and the two other Dragons screamed, plugged through their bullet-resistant vests and lung-shot. Two collapsed and writhed; one dropped to his knees and drew a nine-millimeter Glock.

"That's for Larry Sam!" she yelled, ducking behind the Charger's open door and quickly changing the empty magazine for one of the full ones clipped beside it.

BBRRAAAAPP! Bean ran to the BMW as its driver and the Mercedes' guard opened fire on him, hitting his jacket and the pavement. KRAK KRAK! Rally shot the Glock out of the wounded Dragon's hand and removed his trigger finger. 426 shouted, and the man guarding him lunged for Bean, who stiff-armed the Dragon so hard he flew over a hood and broke the windshield with his head. He rolled off unconscious.

Bean reached the door of the BMW and punched straight through the window to take out its cowering driver, then withdrew his fist and whirled to face 426, who still stood aside from the fray as if it were beneath his dignity. Eight of eleven accounted for! Only 426 himself and the Mercedes' guard and driver were still in commission.

Rally took four shots at 426, aiming carefully. He moved like a ghost, to Rally's astonishment evading every bullet. Yelling in Cantonese, he took something out of a pocket; his black Mercedes started up, the driver crouching low. Bean stalked directly for 426.

The assassin flung what looked like two empty hands at Bean; four small throwing stars flew out, glittering in the headlights. One took Bean in the wrist as he blocked it, one stuck solidly in his jacket, one hit him in the neck, the last angled for his unprotected right eye. Rally put a bullet through it and deflected it away.

426 glanced at her, basilisk eyes narrowing, and almost casually drove a wicked-looking spike through the air at her. Rally dodged and hit it aside with her rifle. It left a scar on the receiver. "Hey! That's my SIG 551!" she yelled. "You know how hard it is to get these now?"

She aimed at 426 again and flipped the lever to three-round bursts. One moment he was twenty feet away and in her sights; the next he took a running start, leaped into the air, did an unusual twisting flip like a gymnast and landed right in front of her, inside her guard. "Whoa!"

WHAK! 426 struck her on the right shoulder with the bladed edge of his left hand as he descended, a blow she never saw coming, and Rally let out a yelp. Her right arm instantly went numb and she nearly dropped her rifle. 426 drove the heel of his right hand up under her chin, snapping it up, and she bit her tongue and staggered backwards, grabbing her rifle in her left hand and firing at him.

He dropped gracefully to a crouch and the burst flew over his head. He was faster than O'Toole, and far more skilled, obviously—his technique made him an untouchable opponent, barehanded though he was. Springing up, 426 hit Rally in the stomach with a whipping kick as Bean tried to grab him, bowie knife in hand.

She fell, gasping in pain, and her rifle skidded away. On the backswing of his kick 426 drove his shoe heel into Bean's crotch, provoking a grunt and pained expression, but Bean remained upright, trying to fight the man though unable to lay a hand on him.

WHAK! WHAK! Bean suffered half a dozen sharp, expertly-aimed kicks and strikes without ever coming close with the knife. Though he outweighed 426 by close to eighty pounds, he staggered at every blow. WHAK! WHAK! Bean lost his bowie knife under a car and flicked out the switchblade. WHAK! 426 jumped in the air and nailed Bean square in the face, the other foot knocking aside the knife.

"OW!" Bean put a hand to his face, his mouth and nose bleeding, and looked for his switchblade. Wojohowicz aimed and fired at 426, but the assassin dodged with another twisting flip and threw one more spike while still airborne. It stuck in the barrel of the .45. Wojohowicz looked at it in surprised disgust, threw it away and drew her ankle knife, rolling a bleeding Dragon over to find her own handgun.

Bean backed off from the attack, pulling the throwing stars out of his jacket and neck and wrist; the small wounds trickled blood. 426 surely couldn't expect such weapons to have much effect on Bean! Were they poisoned? Bean looked perfectly healthy, however, leaving aside the blood and rising bruises on his face, and Rally yelled, struggling upright.

"The car! The car!" Bean was already starting for the Mercedes with the hostages, but 426 extracted something from his sleeve and threw it—a set of wire bolas. They tangled Bean's legs and he fell headlong, catching himself with both hands.

As he struggled to disentangle his feet, 426 hurtled into the air. He came down from a four-foot height with both feet slamming on Bean's back and neck. WHUNK! Bean's chin bounced off the pavement.

"Oough!" he grunted—426 had probably broken a rib or two right through his armored jacket. Bean rolled over and made a grab, chin and mouth bleeding afresh. Rally scrabbled for her rifle, but 426 jumped free and over the BMW as lightly as a teenager despite his grey hairs.

"Aw, shit!" Bean complained, still working on the wire bolas as Rally and Wojohowicz ran to him. With his multi-tool and Rally's help, he clipped some wires and disentangled others. 426 got into the rear seat of the Mercedes S500 next to Sarah and slammed the door. The guard jumped into the front passenger seat.

Wojohowicz had recovered her ten-millimeter and Rally's CZ75 from the fallen Dragons. She threw the CZ75 to Rally, who caught it and aimed, the numbness in her right arm beginning to ease. Using the BMW for cover, she and Wojohowicz fired at the Mercedes' rear tires. Run-flats again! The guard stuck the MP5K out the window and ripped off a couple of bursts, then the driver let off the brake and began to steer around a patch of broken glass.

Bean freed his legs, got up, did a one-handed vault over the BMW and lunged at the Mercedes as it started. He grabbed one rear door handle and rammed his elbow into the glass. The window shattered and he reached inside to pop the lock. The door came open, but the guard thrust the MP5K past the screaming Sarah at Bean's face.

Bean opened his jaws wide and clamped down on the Dragon's wrist, jerking his head to the side and ripping the gun out of the man's grip. It clattered on the pavement as the guard howled, clutching his bleeding arm against his chest. The car was moving. Bean seized the door by the empty window frame and planted his feet, leaning back; he grabbed a light pole with the other arm, looped his elbow around it and held on. The tires spun and smoked, but the car only inched forward.

"Get 'em!" he yelled. Rally sprinted to the car, holstering her CZ75, and tried to pull Tiffany from the foot well. She was wedged under her mother's bound feet, and 426 struck at Rally, Sarah's body partially blocking his way. Rally barely dodged another numbing blow. Bean's face turned red and broke out in sweat, shoulder and elbow joints popping audibly. He was holding back a three-hundred horsepower engine with one arm! He would have to let go or be torn apart, but he was holding on!

Wojohowicz ran around the other side of the Mercedes and broke 426's window with her ten-millimeter. "Freeze!" she yelled. "Stop the car!" He seemed to be out of throwing weapons and hesitated with hand poised at his coat as the agent aimed at his head. Sarah screamed again and the window frame that Bean held began to bend. Rally would have to get the mother out first before she could reach the child!

She leaned into the car, grabbing Sarah under the armpits and unbucking her seatbelt, yanked her out and rolled backwards on the ground with her. Tiffany still lay in the foot well, apparently unconscious.

An awful sound of tearing muscle—Bean's left shoulder wrenched out of the socket. He yelled something inarticulate, his grip slipping on the light pole until he hung on with only his fingers. Rally knew the pain must have been incredible, but Bean persisted.

The door hinges groaned, bolts popping. Bean's boots slipped several feet, the car beginning to drag him. Rally disentangled herself from Sarah after hauling her a few yards away and left her still bound, prone on the road behind the Mercedes. She scrambled for the car again, trying to grab Tiffany, but Bean lost his grip on the light pole and the Mercedes took off.

The little girl slipped from her grasp. The bent door hung open at a crazy angle, grating on the ground and sending up sparks. Bean half-ran, half-dragged alongside the car still locked on to the door with his injured arm, his boots scraping on the asphalt.

"Baby!" wailed Sarah as Wojohowicz knelt to cut her bonds. "My baby!" Rally ran after Bean for a moment, but the Mercedes was gaining speed and she knew she couldn't catch it. Perhaps one of the other cars—Rally stopped and ran back, leaping into the dark red 540i and shoving the limp driver aside and out. The keys were still in the ignition and the seat was covered with glass from the broken window.

She started the car and peeled out, turning on the brights and veering around Wojohowicz and Sarah. Just in time to see Bean grab the top of the speeding Mercedes' car door with his one good hand and vault upwards! He landed halfway on the roof with his legs hanging into the door opening. Rally followed, heart in her throat. He had a dislocated shoulder! What if he lost his grip and fell?

Bean slid down until his feet hit the seat, bent his knees, gripped the top of the door opening and slid down and inwards with a rapid swinging kick aimed at 426. Rally could see 426 evade the attack, the dome light on with the open door, and Bean landed on the seat and pushed off with his right hand to shove his body all the way into the car. He was not likely to fall now, though the door was hanging open, but how was he going to get the girl out safely at that speed? Forty miles an hour and accelerating!

Bullet holes appeared in the back window. The guard in the front seat was firing at Bean as he struggled with 426, his left arm flopping and obviously disabled. He managed to grab the Dragon by the throat and they both went down, vanishing from Rally's line of sight through the back window. In a couple of seconds 426 leaped up again, apparently crouching on the seat. Bean did the same and cracked his head on the ceiling. A car's back seat was close quarters for a fight!

426 lashed a fist at Bean, who blocked the strike. The Dragon's left hand moved up with lightning speed behind the feint and swung at his face with a slashing motion. Something glinted, like a knife, but it looked like several blades at once jutting from 426's left fist.

Bean jumped backwards to avoid the weapon and nearly threw himself out of the speeding car. He stopped his fall just in time with a grab to the car's roof. Hanging halfway out, anchored only by his right hand, Bean swung his body backwards and pushed off with his feet, arcing out and aiming back inside again.

Rally leaned on the gas and gradually drew alongside the Mercedes, rolling down the passenger window of the BMW. If Bean got a chance, he might be able to pass Tiffany into the car Rally drove! "Bean!" she shouted, gesturing.

He caught her eye and dove to grab the girl, her little body curling up against his chest, and awkwardly threw up his left forearm to block another of 426's strikes. His jacket took a set of three parallel cuts right down to the chain mail. The weapon flashed again; three blades an inch and a half apart, six inches long and razor-pointed, projecting from 426's knuckles. It was something like a set of Chinese tiger claws, but with longer, wider blades sharpened along both edges.

If Bean or the girl caught that thing in the face, or the throat, it would tear them to shreds! Rally slewed to the right and cracked up against the Mercedes for a moment, pushing in as close as she could and yelling.

"Bean! Now!" He heard her above the wind and hoisted Tiffany in readiness. Rally reached out to catch, keeping her left hand on the wheel. The guard fired at her, the BMW's windshield shattering. Rally ducked and avoided the flying glass, cracking the car against the Mercedes again.

But just before Bean could pass Tiffany through the window, 426 struck. An arcing slash from behind, the left hand taking the left side of Bean's throat. The collar of his jacket impeded the blow, but Rally, no more than four feet from him, saw the triple blades bite into flesh.

Bean grunted in pain, trying to pass Tiffany to Rally with both hands, unable to defend himself. 426 yanked his head back by the hair and raked the blades across his throat again, right to left. They ripped appallingly deep, blood gushing from the wounds, and Bean fell backwards into the car, still holding the girl protectively to his chest.

To her horror, Rally saw Bean's blood spurt upwards as high as the headliner. 426 had nearly cut his throat! A major artery was slashed and his heart was pumping blood straight out of his body!

Bean reflexively grabbed his wounded throat for a moment, his face splashed with his own blood. 426 wrestled Tiffany away from him and threw her to the guard in the front seat. Bean twisted upright and began to reach for her. The guard raised a revolver, cocked it, and put it to the girl's head.

Bean suddenly froze. 426 said something that Rally could not make out, but the intent was obvious. _Desist, or we shoot her on the spot!_ Bean's chest heaved with rapid breaths, and when he swiveled his head to look at Rally, she saw that his entire shirt and jacket front was already soaked with blood.

"Bean!" she screamed. 426 took Tiffany's little hand, held it up in front of Bean's eyes, and displayed his bladed claw. He was threatening to cut off a finger! Bean took another quick look at Rally.

"Bean! He will do it! You know that! Jump into the car!" His teeth gritted, and 426 drew the blade across Tiffany's index finger, opening a small cut. The little girl screamed. Bean, shaking with rage, tried to grab the child again and met the tiger claws. The blades punched through his palm and pinned his right hand to the back of the driver's seat. With a yell and a wrench, Bean pushed his hand forward to disengage it. 426 yanked the claws back and out. "Bean! It's no use!"

For the third time he looked at her, his gushing blood soaking his clothes, the Mercedes' upholstery, and 426's suit trousers. Both his left arm and his right hand were badly injured, his throat was slashed, and if he kept bleeding at that rate, he would soon go into shock.

426 smiled and held the claws to Tiffany's face, speaking again. Bean's face contorted with helpless fury. He jerked upright and stood on the seat, leaning out of the Mercedes and holding the hanging door.

Rally held down the gas pedal with her left foot, lifted her right leg and kicked the passenger door ajar. Bean took a deep breath, let go of his throat wound, shoved Rally's passenger door all the way open and pushed off from the Mercedes, landing prone on the BMW's seat and halfway out of the car, boot toes skidding on the pavement.

Rally grabbed his jacket collar and he pulled himself all the way inside and sat up. His clothes were saturated with blood. More blood pumped from the throat wounds in time with his rapid heartbeat. It ran down his jacket in thick streams and dripped steadily on the upholstery. "Bean! My God, are you all right!"

"He said…tell her to turn the car around, or the kid goes blind," said Bean in a dreadful voice.

Rally gulped and took a U-turn, nearly in tears as the Mercedes sped away with Tiffany. Bean clamped his right hand on his wound again. She knew that it would not seal itself or stop bleeding with pressure alone—not a severed artery, not with three cuts clean across it! Bean knew that also, of course. His expression was uneasy under the blood spatters.

"You are going to need surgery fast, Bean! Where can I take you?" She raced back down the hill towards the Charger for lack of a better direction. Perhaps Wojohowicz could help. She saw a pair of ambulances stopped in the road, lights going, and had to slow down to weave through the traffic jam around the accident scene.

"Dunno." He jammed forefinger and thumb into the lowest and deepest cut, grunting in pain, and tried to pinch off the artery.

"Haven't you found an underground doctor in San Francisco yet? What about the buckshot wounds you took?"

"Doctored 'em myself." The blood still pumped in horrifying quantities, and Bean looked down at his jeans, now entirely red as well. "Damn..."

The ambulances left, sirens wailing, but the traffic still would not yield. The minutes ticked by, Bean losing more and more blood, his face paling.

"Then you have to go to a hospital!" Rally approached the wrecked Charger again, coming to a stop and yelling out the window to Wojohowicz, who had put Sarah Brown back into the car and was talking into the radio. "Where's the nearest hospital? Bean's wounded! He's losing blood!"

"There isn't one very near! I'll ask for another ambulance!" said Wojohowicz. "Smith, you hear that? Bandit's injured…well, dislocated shoulder, for one thing! I told you he held the Mercedes in place! Vincent says he's bleeding. No, she looks all right. Where's the girl?" she asked Rally.

"Still in 426's car. He threatened to maim her unless we backed off. He's nearly cut Bean's throat! He's been stabbed through the hand, too!"

"Tiffany Brown still in Dragon custody!" said Wojohowicz into the radio. "Tracer pill in place! Start looking at the telemetry!"

"No goddamn hospital!" Bean lurched out of the BMW and leaned on its hood for support, unable to use either hand to grip anything. "They'll arrest me…"

"Where's my daughter?" asked Sarah, looking past the bleeding Bean. "Baby?"

"Bean, you've lost an awful lot of blood already, and it's not stopping! You have to get the slashes sewn up, and you may need a transfusion! Let me take you to a hospital!" Rally slid out of the BMW and put a hand towards Bean, hesitating. Did she dare touch him? "Please get back in the car! I can drive faster than any ambulance!"

He looked terrible, his face grey and breaking out in cold sweat under the splashes of blood, and waved her off. "No! I don't need a hospital!"

"Oh, my God!" said Wojohowicz, staring at the gouts of bright red spurting between Bean's fingers. She jumped out of the Charger. "He's got a cut artery!" Bean swayed and grabbed the BMW's hood. "Lie down, Bandit! Vincent, think! How much blood has he lost?"

"Where's my baby? Tiffany?" Sarah Brown got out of the Charger as well. "Is she in your car? Baby?"

"426 still has her, ma'am. I'm sorry. We're going to try to get her back."

"Aaaiiggh!" wailed Sarah, collapsing in tears.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said Rally to Sarah. "We did our best. Bean was hurt trying to rescue her!"

"How much blood!" barked Wojohowicz, sounding a great deal like Smith.

Rally calculated rapidly. "Ten or twelve minutes at that rate of bleeding…about a cupful a minute…maybe, um, almost three quarts?—oh, my God."

"Shit…!" hissed Wojohowicz. "Six units? That's probably about a third of his blood already! He's going into shock! Bandit, lie down before you fall down!"

"I don't feel so good," said Bean absently, breathing hard. "Kinda dizzy."

Wojohowicz grabbed him around the waist. "Vincent, help me! He's going to fall!" Rally took his right arm and put it over her shoulders, and between them they lowered Bean to the ground. Rally took off her jacket and put it under his head.

"We need a pressure bandage! Give me your shirt!" said Wojohowicz to Rally, taking off Sarah Brown's silk blouse, and Rally pulled her own white knit top over her head, leaving her in her bra. "Ambulance is coming. We have to slow the bleeding until they get here, and I'm afraid it might be a while, because it's a summer Saturday night and all the services are busy. Shit—if I'd known, I'd have told them to leave the damn cops on the road and wait for you!" She seemed truly concerned for Bean; Rally felt gratitude and trepidation at the same time. Was he going to be all right?

"Don't go taking me to any hospital," said Bean, sounding agitated. His hands shook and clenched. "Vincent, promise me you ain't taking me!"

Rally rolled the shirts together and pressed them against Bean's throat wound. "Calm down, Bean. No one's arresting you. Smith promised, remember?" She could feel his heart going a hundred beats a minute and accelerating as his body tried to circulate his dwindling blood supply fast enough to supply oxygen to the vital organs. "Now chill out and let's try to get your pulse rate down!"

He glanced at her half-naked torso with a smile, eyes beginning to focus again. "Popping your top for a bandage? That sure ain't the way to slow my pulse, babe!"

"Bean…oh, be quiet!"

"Put your feet up on the car seat," said Wojohowicz, helping Bean to do so. "There we go. Is it better lying down?"

"Yeah."

"Just stay like that, and keep pressure on the wound. You'll be all right."

"Ahh, it's nothin'." Bean grimaced and looked at Rally. "What did I do to my damn shoulder? Kinda hurts."

"You dislocated it hanging onto a Mercedes! Don't you remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." He seemed slightly perplexed. "Wouldja pop it in for me?"

"Uh…"

"I'll do it, Vincent," said Wojohowicz. "You keep pressing on that bandage." She moved to Bean's left side, grabbing his bloody hand and elbow. "Brace yourself, Bandit."

"Yeah. Ready."

Wojohowicz planted her feet, arranged his arm at the right angle and yanked hard. There was a sound of sliding joints and a loud pop. Bean grunted and moved his arm. "Uhm—OK, I can feel it's in. You did that good, babe. Agent Wojohowicz, is it?"

"Yep, but that's a mouthful. Call me Sue," said Wojohowicz with a smile, putting his hand on his chest and patting it for a moment. "No charge."

"Oh, I pay my debts, Sue," said Bean, returning the smile. He idly examined Wojohowicz's sports bra and tight waist.

Rally felt a little twinge—yes, it _was_ jealousy. She flushed and looked down; the blood began to soak through the pad she held against Bean's wound. "Agent…look."

Wojohowicz looked. "Oboy. Mrs. Brown, we need more bandage material. Give me those fatigues." Wojohowicz shed the slacks she wore.

"But…I'll be naked!" Sarah protested.

"Yes, you will. This man's bleeding, ma'am. He needs your help. See, I've used all my clothes, and Ms. Vincent here is wearing leather pants, which won't help." Wojohowicz folded the slacks and put them over the top of the blouses; Rally clamped the thick pad tightly down. Bean closed his eyes as she leaned over him, his face growing paler and paler. Sarah reluctantly began to undress.

"When is that ambulance coming?" said Rally.

"I hear a siren," said Wojohowicz. "Look, there's Smith and Wesson!" An FBI car pulled up and Wesson and Manichetti got out of the rear, Smith out of the front passenger seat. "Sir! We're over here!"

"Jesus." Smith jogged forward. He seemed to register the three semi-naked women clustered around Bean as he lay on the ground, but his attention centered on Bean. "He all right?"

"Severed artery and a bunch of other wounds," said Wojohowicz. "Lost about six-seven units by now. He's shocky—clammy skin, rapid respiration, anxiety, the works."

Smith's eyes widened. "Holy fuck—well, they're coming as fast as they can! I told 'em an FBI agent was down. They clear the boards for law enforcement."

"No shit?" said Bean, eyes still closed and smiling slightly.

Manichetti lumbered up behind Smith, out of breath. "Sarah? Ma'am? You OK?" Although she was half undressed, Sarah leaped at him and he embraced her.

Rally barely noticed, having little attention left for anyone but Bean. "Oh…Manny…" she heard Sarah weep. "They have my baby…" Manichetti let out a sobbing gasp and hugged her close, patting her hair.

"Christ, at least he's still alive," said Smith with relish. "Looks like hell. Is _all_ of that his blood? Man, I recall in the 'Nam—"

"Pete…" Rally gave him a pleading look.

"Sorry, kid." He took off his jacket and shirt, ripping his tie knot out. "Here's some more fabric if you need it before the medics arrive. Mrs. Brown, you just put that jumpsuit back on in front of the men; that's a good girl." Manichetti blushed, letting go of Sarah, but she clung to him, sobbing. Smith squatted next to Bean in his undershirt. "Hey, soldier. How you doing there?" Bean grunted.

"Pete, how are Roy and May? What happened at the nightclub?"

Smith looked at her. "The Dragons have your partner. 426 used her for a shield and took her away. We couldn't do a thing. I'm sorry."

"Oh, no... But she wasn't in 426's car!"

"Must have switched her to another one. She's been kidnapped, yeah, but I'm betting they'll keep her alive. The Dragons will be getting desperate now. We did get about twenty of the soldiers and sub-leaders, and the SFPD is mopping up the trail you left through town. That leaves only the three highest numbers and maybe eight or ten active rankers. Red Mountain and Red Gourd may already have left the country on a yacht. The Triad's neck is broken. These are its dying thrashes. The FBI will take care of it, Miss Rally."

"Good. And…and Roy?" She hoped he wasn't saving the worst news for last.

"Coleman's OK. Took a blow to the head, but he's conscious now. We sent him to the hospital for observation."

"Oh, thank God…"

Smith looked Bean over again. "Damn, he's bleeding faster all the time," he said aside to Rally. "Say…what's this cut on his wrist? And the holes in this hand? Weird weapon."

"It was a three-pronged set of tiger claws, and a throwing star. He got a star in the neck too, but you can't see the wound now—"

"No shit. I don't wonder that there's a lot of blood from the big wounds. But look at this." He pulled back Bean's jacket sleeve and pointed at the small punctures from the star. "This little cut is bleeding like a faucet. No clotting."

Smith, Rally, and Wojohowicz all looked at each other.

"Anticoagulant," said Wojohowicz in a whisper.

"Huh?" said Bean, opening one eye.

"Oh, my God," muttered Rally. She pressed harder on the pad, now almost entirely red. "They WERE poisoned! Is he going to be…"

"Ambulance is almost here." Wojohowicz put a hand on Rally's shoulder and caught her gaze. The agent's grey-blue eyes were serious, but reassuring, and Rally managed a smile in return. "We're keeping the blood flow down. Just keep the pressure on."

Wesson, still in Sly Brown drag and makeup, loitered over from the car and surveyed the scene, turquoise eyes lingering on the women's bras. Rally felt his gaze and glared at him for a moment. He looked like a cheap, furtive version of Brown, his mascara running. "What a spectacle," he said with a snide undertone. "The celebrated Bean Bandit and his nubile cheering section—"

"No cracks, Bob," snarled Wojohowicz, her hands covered in Bean's blood. "Try stripping off some of those overpriced glad rags!"

Bean opened his eyes and turned his head to the sound of Wesson's voice. He had been relaxed, though breathing rapidly and shaking with a racing pulse, but when he saw Wesson, backlit, dressed in Italian suit and with blond highlights, his whole body jerked and tensed, fists clenching.

"Hey, calm down," said Wojohowicz. "What's the matter?"

Rally looked and realized. "No, Bean, that's Wess—" He lunged upright to a sitting position, the bandages slipping away as she tried to keep pressure on the wound. "Stop! Lie down! The bleeding—!"

Bean stumbled to his feet and out of their grasping hands, face ghost-white and dotted with cold sweat. Entirely covered with blood from the neck down, his clothes shone dark, sticky red, the neck wound pumping fresh bright color over all. Wesson's eyes went wide. He took an involuntary step backwards, and Bean pounced like a tiger.

"NO! Bean, STOP!" Rally leaped up and started forward. "That's not—"

WHAM! It was too late; Bean had grabbed Wesson's jacket front, pulled back a fist and smashed it into his face, sending him ten feet backwards into the nearest Dragon car. "Aiigghh!" yelled the unfortunate agent, bouncing off and falling to the ground with blood spraying from his nose. "Help! Heeellllp! Get him off me, for the love of—"

"THAT'S NOT SLY BROWN!" screamed Rally. "BEAN!"

"Goddammit!" bellowed Smith. "Bandit, stop it! That's my partner!"

"BEAN!" Rally pulled on Bean's elbow. "STOP!"

KRUNCH! He kicked Wesson in the testicles. "EEEAAARRGGGHH!" screamed Wesson, doubling up on the ground and fumbling out his .45. KRAK! A slug whizzed past Bean's head.

"Fuck—!" shouted Smith. "Bob, NO!"

Rally took a flying leap and landed on Wesson, shielding his body with hers and grabbing his wrist. "STOP! Bean, this ISN'T Brown!" Wesson let out a sob of pain and terror, trying to shove her aside and point his shaking pistol at Bean. "Bean! Listen to me! THIS IS AGENT WESSON!"

"Shit! BREAK IT UP, BOTH OF YOU!"

Bean had aimed another kick, at Wesson's head this time, and paused with boot in midair. "What the hell you talking about?"

"This is Agent Wesson in disguise, you idiot! You just attacked an FBI agent! Again!"

"Agh…agh…agh…" whimpered Wesson, clutching his crotch with both hands.

Bean took another look and straightened up. "Oh. Sorry."

"Geez! You are INSANE!" Rally rolled off Wesson. "You OK, Agent?"

"Agh…"

Bean grimaced, half turned, bent his knees and fainted. Smith and Rally tried to catch him, leaping to his side, but only succeeded in slowing his fall. An ambulance roared up, sirens going full tilt, and three others arrived in rapid succession, the crews jumping out. "Over here!" bellowed Smith. "We got casualties!" Two paramedics with a rolling stretcher ran to them and bent over Bean. The others headed for the wounded and dead Dragons.

"Hey!" complained Wesson from the ground. "Whad aboud be? I'b the one who's hurd here! He broge by fugging nose!"

"How long has he been bleeding?" snapped a woman paramedic, trying to strip off Bean's jacket. "God, what's this jacket made of?" With Rally's and the FBI agents' help, the paramedics rolled Bean onto the stretcher and trundled him towards the waiting ambulance. "Is all of this his blood?"

"Yes!" Rally ran alongside. "Can…can I come with him? He's been bleeding for about…twenty minutes now. Maybe eight units at that rate—and we think he's had an anticoagulant administered to him!" She snatched up a pair of the throwing stars from the ground. "Here! These!"

"A cut throat and an anticoagulant? Man, is that overkill or what?" said the woman paramedic to her male partner. "Yes, come along, ma'am. You next of kin?" She put an oxygen mask over Bean's face.

"Um…no. I'm, I'm his partner." Rally grabbed her jacket from the ground and put it on over her bra.

"Close enough. This was an assault? You a witness?" The paramedics folded up the legs of the stretcher and ran it into the ambulance feet first. The woman jumped up inside and began to pack Bean's throat wound with gauze.

"No…hospital…" groaned Bean through the mask, half unconscious. "No…arrest me…" He tried to sit up.

"Lie down!" the woman yelled."Ma'am, can you get this guy to cooperate?"

"Pete!" shouted Rally. "Tell him he's not getting arrested! Bean, please stay still! Let them help you!"

Smith turned around, helping Wesson to stand up and to staunch his bloody nose with a fifteen-hundred-dollar Italian silk jacket. "Miss Rally?"

"He's getting agitated! Please, before we go—"

Smith came over and peered inside. "Bandit, you assaulted my partner, and you sure as hell didn't pull your punches this time! He's got a broken nose and may sing soprano for a while!"

Bean muttered something and Rally jumped up beside him with the paramedics. "Bean thought he was someone else! You promised you wouldn't arrest him!"

"Yes, I did, Miss Rally. Take him to the damn hospital!" Smith waved the doors shut.

Just before they closed, Manichetti dashed up with Sarah still clinging to him, and reached something to Rally in the tips of his fingers. It was a business card, and she took it, uncomprehending. He had no time to explain, and Rally had no attention to spare, so she stuck the card in her jacket along with 426's throwing stars and turned to Bean. He rolled his head from side to side on the stretcher, beginnning to shiver and twitch uncontrollably. The ambulance drove off, siren whining.

"I can't cut this goddamn jacket!" yelled the male paramedic. "What is this lining? Chain mail?" His scissors grated on Bean's bloody jacket.

"Yes! Try a pair of bolt cutters!"

"I'll do a hand vein," said the paramedic, cutting the red-soaked T-shirt instead. He yelled into his radio headset. "Deep throat wound with apparent severance of left carotid, venous blood also present! Patient is hemorrhaging, pale and sweaty, anxious! Estimate, lost eight units, patient approximately one-ten kilos, adult male! Unable to take blood pressure reading yet!"

He jabbed a needle into the back of Bean's left hand, seeming to listen to instructions over the headset. "Roger, one unit lactated Ringer's! Attempting to stabilize bleeding!" The woman attached a bag of clear fluid to the IV. The man applied another large gauze pad to Bean's wound while the woman cleaned several spots on his chest to attach EKG electrode patches and squeezed the bag to force the fluid into his veins.

The man rapidly cut Bean's jeans and underwear off with the scissors, pulled off his boots and dumped the bloody rags into a disposal bag, then sliced off the rest of the T-shirt and looked for another tool. Bean's entire body was pale and mottled with blood that had soaked through his clothes.

"What the fuck's goin' on?" he said dazedly, batting the oxygen mask aside. "Babe?"

"Ma'am!" said the woman paramedic, resettling the mask. "Is he experiencing disorientation or confusion? Ask him a few questions. Things he would know."

"Uh—" Rally leaned over where Bean could see her. "Bean, do you know who I am? What day is it?"

"Yeah, you're Rally Vincent, an' it's Saturday night. July tenth, 1999."

"OK. He seems all—"

"I thought you were in Chicago, babe. What're you doin' out in Frisco?'

"Um…Bean, I came out here on vacation. We were working together?"

"Oh." His brow creased. "Oh, yeah. We got a room in some goddamn truck stop in the valley."

"That's right."

"You kissed me." He took the mask off again.

"Oh, boy..."

"You didn't just kiss me. Didn't you and me get in the sack?" The male paramedic used a pair of tin snips on the right arm of Bean's jacket, making slow headway. Bean's hazel eyes looked nearly black against his white face, wide open and restlessly moving. The woman talked to the emergency room doctor over her headset and fiddled with the EKG equipment. She covered Bean's lower body with a sheet after examining him for additional wounds.

"B-Bean, don't talk about that—"

"I know we did. Like, you said, Bean, please do it to me, and I don't know why you'd say that. Naw, you couldn't have, could ya?" He looked at her in confusion. "Am I crazy? I must've imagined it."

"No…you're not crazy. You've lost a lot of blood, Bean. You're not getting enough oxygen to the brain. You just need a transfusion! You'll be OK!"

"UCSF emergency room just went on diversion," said the driver up front. "We've got to turn around and go to General." The ambulance turned right.

"I hope the bank's not low on his type," remarked the man, taking Bean's blood pressure as soon as the jacket arm had been slashed. He spoke into his headset. "Sixty-one over fifty-three, pulse one-twenty-five. Thin and thready. Radial pulse nearly absent."

His partner hissed low. She again put the mask over Bean's face, but Bean struggled and tore it off. "Let go of me, dammit! I'll kill ya, you understand me? I don't take that from any man ever born!"

"Hey! Calm down! You need extra oxygen!"

Rally grabbed Bean's hand. "Don't fight them! They're trying to help you!"

"You are going to fucking regret that!" he yelled. "Just back off, hear? Go ahead and call in the pigs, 'cause I'll take 'em out just the same as your goons! No one's arresting the Roadbuster today!"

"Bean! I'm here, OK? This is Rally! I will NOT let anyone arrest you!" The woman tried to put the mask on and Bean knocked it off. "Please! Let them help you!"

"I'll do nose tubes instead," said the paramedic with an irritated sigh. "I'll be glad when this psycho's off my hands!" She had Rally hold Bean's head while she inserted the little plastic Y-tubes. "Don't let him rip those out. Try to keep him calm if you can, ma'am!" She went to work on the other arm of his jacket with the tin snips.

Rally's cell phone rang. "Yes?"

"You at the hospital yet?" asked Smith.

"No, we're going to another one. San Francisco General, I think."

"OK. I've got something to tell you. Manichetti split."

"What?"

"Grabbed a Dragon car and took off while we were occupied with my partner and Mrs. Brown. She's in hysterics." Rally could hear something high-pitched in the background. "Her four-year-old daughter under threat of torture and execution, and now her gentleman friend takes a powder. Such a nice guy."

"Gentleman friend?"

"Don't leave me here," said Bean, sounding lost. "I don't want to stay here. Somebody hit me. Can't I go home with you?"

"You didn't notice? Looks like Manny has been driving more than his employer's cars, if you get my meaning. At any rate, he's gone. And there's only about twenty-five minutes left on the damn deadline. He didn't even give us a clue about where 426 might have gone with Tiffany, and it's damn lucky Wojohowicz got that tracer in place in time. We're trying to triangulate on a moving target—maybe we'll be able to get her in time, maybe not, no thanks to Manichetti. Only things he cares about in the world? His fat pair of dogs, that's what." Smith sounded tired, disgusted, and even sad.

"Oh, Pete…"

"I just went a little sour on human nature. And I'm such a Pollyanna optimist in general."

"I left my shoes somewhere," said Bean. "I'm hungry."

"But…could he be trying to help in some way? Maybe he's going to intervene."

"Don't see how! 426 wants Brown, Brown isn't answering. I mean, I knew Sly was a rat's ass. That is not such a surprise, though I hoped against hope he'd find a little humanity for his baby girl. But I really believed Manichetti for a few hours there when he seemed so upset about the family—well, now I know what that was all about. Guess he was porking the wife but he's well rid of Brown's kid. Shit, I guess it's time for me to retire after all..."

"I'm sorry, Pete. I believed him too."

"How's Bean?"

"Not great. But I'm sure he'll be all right once we get to the hospital."

"Good. Keep me posted. I'll try to get there if I can. I'm going to see about getting hold of Coleman for you. Apparently he's been released, but he's halfway across town at St. Mary's last I heard. I'll try there. See you."

"Thank you, Pete." She put the phone away.

"Rally…"

"I'm right here, Bean."

"Sorry. I ain't supposed to call you that, Vincent." Bean seemed to be breathing a little easier with the oxygen, but kicked off the sheet covering his naked body.

"It's all right. You call me whatever you want."

"Naw." He closed his eyes and grimaced, panting through his nose. "You were right about that. Some friend I was." His voice grew vague. "I guess it worked, 'cause here I am frickin' upside down…"

"Blood pressure fifty over forty-two and falling."

"It's OK, Bean. You've paid it off. All of it."

"No way, babe. I told 426 you did Huang. Can't make up for ratting on a partner. And…I took something from you I can't give back."

"Don't think about the damn money right now, Bean! It's not me you owe it to, anyway."

"Not the money. I can get money. I can't give _it_ back…"

"What?" Rally thought he must have lost track of his thoughts again. "All you stole was a suitcase."

"Lot more than that, girl…woman. Can't lose that but once."

"Oh!" Rally blushed hot, turning her eyes away from his nudity. "Um…Bean, you didn't steal that from me. I, um, I gave it to you. It's not something you owe—"

"You let me figure what I owe on my damn own…"

"Now that is the strangest rule you have ever come up with! No, Bean. You don't owe me anything, so just forget it."

"Pulse one hundred thirty-eight."

"I got a lot to pay off, babe. I ain't…finished with what I owe you." He was gasping, his chest heaving with his rapid breaths. The paramedics completed cutting the jacket away and stuffed it into a bag as well.

Rally realized that Bean was grasping for a lifeline, and her stomach dropped. Was he in more danger than she realized? "Uh…OK, you owe me. You have debts to pay. Lots of things to accomplish. You haven't finished your job—"

"Tonight's job!" Bean blinked and suddenly tried to sit up again. "The bastard's got her! We got to get the kid, Vincent! Turn the car around!" The paramedics tried to push him down again and covered him.

"This is an ambulance, Bean. We're heading to a—"

"How the hell we gonna get the kid away in time? When's the deadline?"

Rally checked her watch. "It's 10:10. Twenty minutes to go. The FBI has a tracer on her—Wojohowicz made her swallow it. They'll do what they can. It's out of our hands, Bean!" The ambulance pulled into a parking lot and backed up to the doors of an emergency room. The paramedics opened the ambulance doors and pulled Bean's stretcher out. Rally followed, holding his hand.

"No! We didn't finish the job! Didn't carry out the contract!"

"You didn't even get paid for this job, Bean! It's not your responsibililty! The FBI is on it!"

He fell back on the stretcher as the paramedics ran it through the door, his eyes black with pain. "No…the contract…the kid…he's gonna do things to her…"

"I know what you mean, Bean. But you are wounded. You can't do anything about it!"

Bean gritted his teeth, and to her utter shock, Rally saw tears in his eyes. "He's gonna die. You hear me? 426 is gonna die for that."

"Bean, if he kills that little girl, I will take him out myself!" She meant it with every cell in her body.

"Not…on…yer own, babe." His breathing was so rapid now that he could barely speak.

"Goddammit, he needs that mask!" snapped the woman. "Keep it on this time!" She slapped it over Bean's face. "Be quiet and lie still!"

"This the slashed carotid?" A doctor accompanied by a young intern strode up to the stretcher through the crowded emergency room. "Christ, look at that." He peeled the blood-soaked gauze from Bean's throat. "Going to be tricky patching that mess up, so let's get started. Prep him!"

"Excuse me, Doctor," Rally began, "He might have had an anticoagulant—"

"I keep dreaming about it," announced Bean. "I dream she's, like, in the car sucking me off. I dream she's got all her clothes off and I'm on top of her going crazy. Man, it was so sweet."

"Huh?" said the doctor.

"These." She held out the throwing stars. "A couple of these stuck in him, and the bleeding keeps getting faster—"

"Type match!" yelled the doctor. "Another bolus of RL here!" A nurse quickly drew blood, and the paramedics assisted by three burly orderlies transferred Bean to a gurney and changed his transfusion bag. "You know him? What's his mental state? Coherent or confused?"

"He's switching back and forth—"

"Where the hell is this?" Bean asked of no one in particular. His wandering eyes fell on Rally. "Hey, babe. You mind telling me where my damn car is? I got a job to do."

"Bean, you're in a hosp—"

"Why's my goddamn neck hurt? You slice me up, lady? Or was it Murray?" He touched an old scar on his left deltoid.

"It was 426, Bean. You fought with him."

"Four hundred twenty-six keys of coke? Hey, I only picked up a hundred and fifty. Wasn't on my end. Take it out of Murray's hide."

"Bean, I have no idea who Murray is."

"I gather he's confused," said the doctor, turning away. "Operating room three! I want blood gases!" Another nurse drew blood.

"Vincent?" said Bean.

"Yes."

"Tell Vincent I didn't break my promise."

"I know you didn't, Bean."

"Percy can suck my dick," he replied. "Go on, tell him. I want to know what shade of red he turns." He seemed to see her for a moment. "Those look awful good on you, babe. Nice color. Same as your eyes."

"What about the stars?" Rally asked the intern.

"Uh, well, give them to me for the toxicology analysis," he said, holding out a gloved hand. "This was an assault?"

"Yes, a fight with gangsters. He's, um, he's sort of an FBI auxiliary." Rally crossed her fingers. In her hand was the business card that Manichetti had given her, and that she had put in the same pocket as the throwing stars. What was it?

"Geez, doesn't look much like a cop!"

"Uh…no." She glanced at the card; printed on it was 'Ephraim Lansky, M.D.', with a phone number and fax number. On the reverse someone had written 'Keeps his mouth shut'. Rally blinked and put it back in her pocket.

"Why would she give a damn?" asked Bean. "I didn't think she ever gave a damn."

"Run toxicology on him! Check for warfarin and derivatives! Go!" said the doctor. They rolled Bean directly into an operating room and a large Samoan orderly barred Rally's way. Bean's hand slipped out of hers as they took him through a pair of swinging doors.

"Sorry. Sterile operating area. Please wait outside, ma'am," said the orderly.

"But…but…"

"Vincent?" she heard Bean call. "Where the hell'd you go?"

"He's asking for me! Please, let me go in with him! I won't faint or anything!"

"Vincent!"

A nurse approached. "Miss, it's against hospital policy. Please go to the waiting area."

"Shit!" someone yelled beyond the swinging doors. "Hold him down! Get me some straps!"

"Please!" Rally begged.

The masked doctor stuck his head out. "Who's this Vincent he's calling for?"

"Me! Please let me stay with him!"

"Goddammit, put a gown on her!" the doctor barked at the nurse. "I don't have time for this shit! This man's vitals are crashing!" He vanished inside again. The nurse hustled Rally through the doors and tied a mask around her face, then wrapped her in a surgical gown.

"Don't get in the surgical team's way!" She turned to the operating table, where Bean thrashed wildly, surrounded by orderlies and nurses.

"Bean?" Rally called. "I'm here! It's all right! Let them help you!"

"Vincent? Is it time to go yet? We going to get the dough?"

She thrust a hand between the moving people and touched his chest. "I'm here. Bean, I'm not going to leave!" Bean grabbed her hand and nearly crushed it.

"Step on that type match!" yelled the doctor. "Hematocrit!" Someone put a blood pressure cuff on Bean's arm again. "Valium! Get this SOB quiet! Local on the wound!" She saw a needle go into his IV line, and another into his neck near the bleeding wound. "Sutures! I'm going to clean up this fucking mess—it's a miracle he got here alive!" The doctor bent over Bean with a scalpel. Rally closed her eyes before the blade met flesh, but held firmly to Bean's hand as he gradually relaxed from the sedative, his fingers tight around hers.

Around her, the doctor and nurses moved and jostled and spoke, their voices blurring into a hum of sound with the EKG readouts beeping in the background.

"AB-negative, it figures…fucking shredded…still exsanguinating…force that in…maybe have to graft…blood pressure twenty-nine over fifteen…packed red cells…no, it's still leaking…come on, come on, tie off…scissors…ten units at least…fucking class four hypovolemic…warfarin, all right…oh, this is not good…come on, you big bastard…not until you're sewed…some kind of organic poison with the anticoagulant…no antidote…nineteen over eight…keep breathing, you SOB…no capillary refill on extremities…this is bad…"

Gradually, Bean's fingers loosened and opened. And grew cold. The voices were low and urgent, and took on a note of controlled panic. Rally opened her eyes again. Bean's wound had been repaired, the doctor taking the last few stitches in his neck, and two bags of blood hung from IV stands, a nurse rapidly squeezing each into the lines that extended into Bean's arm and chest. But he was dead white and gasping, his eyes closed and lips blue, and Rally's heart began to thump.

"Holy crap!" said the intern, taking Bean's blood pressure.

"I want numbers, not your religious persuasion!" shouted the doctor.

"Zero. Blood pressure zero over zero!"

"Heart is fibrillating!" The activity in the room suddenly increased, from busy to frantic, and Rally was elbowed aside. She stood back from the operating table, hands over her mouth. Something was wrong. Everyone was too busy to talk to her, but she knew. Bean was in trouble! They had come to the hospital too late! Someone else came into the operating room—Agent Smith, in mask and gown. He touched Rally's shoulder and she looked at him in surprise.

"Just got here. Coleman's on his way," he said low.

"Thank you," Rally whispered. She checked her watch. "Oh—my God. It's 10:39! Tiffany Brown!"

"I have some news for you. 426 has canceled the deadline."

"What?"

"He issued a communiqué about five minutes ago while I was on my way here. He no longer demands that Sylvester Brown give himself up in order to save his daughter. You are not going to believe why."

"Why?"

"Because, he says, Brown is dead."

"But…?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." Smith shrugged. "Don't ask me what his next move is going to be." He looked at the bustle around Bean. "How's Bandit doing? I thought he'd be out of here by now. When they told me he was still in surgery, I got a little concerned." Rally knew he meant about her as much as about Bean. An alarm went off on one of the monitors, then on another.

"I…I'm not sure—it doesn't look very—"

"Code Blue!" yelled the doctor. "Cardiac arrest!" He started CPR.

"Oh, NO!" Rally started forward, and Smith pulled her back.

"Don't get in their way! Nothing you can do!"

"But he kept asking for me—"

"Let 'em do their job." Smith drew her towards the door. "Give them room. We'd better go to the waiting area."

"I want to stay." Rally pulled away. "He…he needs me!"

"Clear!" The intern punched defibrillation paddles to the sides of Bean's chest and his body jumped. "Clear!" Bean's body jumped again. The doctor resumed CPR.

"Cardiac monitor flatlined," said a nurse. "No respiration."

"Bean?" Rally whispered. The doctor kept pumping Bean's chest, his face grim. The nurses looked at each other. The cardiac monitor beeped again. Bean's heart had restarted! The cloud in the room began to lift, the doctor leaned back for a moment with sweat running down his face, and as a nurse mopped it for him, the monitors all went flat again.

"Clear!" shouted the intern. They repeated the whole process, the doctor working frantically with clenched hands over Bean's breastbone, and again the machine began to register heart activity. Bean took one gasping breath. And no more.

"Goddammit!" said the doctor. "Come on, tough guy! You got this far, God knows how! Give me a goddamn heartbeat!" But this time, despite the frantic efforts of the medical team, nothing came back to life. The monitors remained flat, the alarms going off, and Bean took no more breaths. The doctor kept up CPR for several minutes more, pounding and shouting. "Come on! Come on!" The intern took over the CPR for a few minutes, then the doctor resumed.

Nothing. The doctor kept working, the nurses kept squeezing the bags, the intern kept taking readings and calling out the dismal results. Bean did not visibly respond. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the doctor said, "Stop." The nurses reluctantly let go of the blood transfusion bags. "That's it. This man's dead."

"Oh, my God," said the intern, looking dazed. "He's gone."

"Note the time." The doctor slumped over Bean's chest. "Passed away at 10:51 P.M." Someone switched off the flatlined monitors. "Damn."

"Doctor?" said Rally, more confused than anything else. Bean couldn't be dead! It wasn't within the bounds of possibility!

"I'm sorry, ma'am. We did our best, and he was a real fighter. If anyone could have survived this, he would have. He'd just lost too much blood. Not to mention the fucking rat poison in his circulation!" He stripped off his bloody gloves. "We never did finish the toxicology analysis on that shit—could take a while to get full results back on that, but it's the coroner's job now."

The doctor turned to the intern. "Note the cause of death—hypovolemic shock and massive organ failure resulting from severe hemorrhage. It's a homicide, so get the goddamn paperwork ready for me to sign."

A nurse took the gloves and dropped them in a medical waste container. She detached the EKG patches and began to remove the IVs and oxygen tubes from Bean's body.

"What?" said Rally, not believing a word. "He's not dead!"

"Miss Rally," said Smith, very gently. For a moment she didn't realize who was speaking. "He's dead. I'm sorry. Why don't you come with—"

"NO!" Rally darted forward and grabbed Bean by the shoulders. Cold, clammy. Eyes closed halfway, his head rolled slightly from side to side as she shook him. "Wake up! Wake up! It's not possible! He can't die! BEAN!"

Smith put an arm around her, drawing her back from the operating table. "I know, it's gonna take a minute to sink in. I remember what it's like. I lost two partners in the line of duty, kid. I'm sorry."

"I've got to go to the next patient," said the doctor apologetically. "It's a busy Saturday night around here. My condolences." He patted Rally's shoulder and left with the intern.

"But he's…he can't be…he's so strong…he CAN'T be dead!"

"That's the hell of it, Miss Rally," said Smith. "One moment a man's alive, the next he's dead. I lost a lot of friends in the Army. A lot faster than he went. Most of them couldn't do a thing about it—just shot dead on their feet, never even knowing what hit them. At least he got the chance to fight. I'm damn sorry he lost."

"He's never lost. Never…"

"All of us are going to lose that fight some day."

Rally turned to the table again as orderlies moved Bean to a gurney. "Not Bean. Not Bean." Smith kept his arm around her shoulders.

"Miss, he's gone," said the nurse tiredly, but with sympathy. "No brain activity, no heartbeat. His body just gave up." She sighed and followed the gurney out of the operating room, ushering Rally and Smith into a large vacant cubicle. The orderlies placed the gurney with the head against one wall.

"What are you going to do with him?"

The nurse put a hand on Bean's blood-spattered forehead. "I'm going to clean him up a little, OK? We're not going to throw you out or do anything with his body right now. You can stay." The nurse took a wad of wet gauze and washed Bean's face; the blood smeared and thinned and vanished, leaving him grey-white and still. His mouth hung slightly open, his eyelashes not quite concealing his irises.

The nurse removed the top layer of stained blue incontinence sheets from under him and wadded them up. Around his head, his hair sprawled out untidily. The nurse smoothed it back and tucked it behind his ears, then washed his chest and arms and laid his hands at his sides. She shut his eyes all the way with a gentle stroke of two fingers, adjusted his jaw to close his mouth and pulled a sheet up to his breastbone.

"Bean's dead?" said Rally stupidly. "He's really dead?"

"Yeah," said Smith. "Bean's dead."

"I'm finished," said the nurse, throwing the stained gauze pads and blue sheets in the medical waste container. She snapped off her gloves and discarded them as well. "You can stay, if you want to be with him. I'll tell the shift nurse. They won't have to take him away to Pathology for an hour or so, if that's what you want."

"Yeah, I do." Rally's vision began to blur. "I want to be with him for a little while."

"You want me to stay, or not?" said Smith. "Until Coleman gets here?"

"I'd…like to be alone with him, for a little…if that's OK."

"It's OK, kid." Smith gave Rally another squeeze and let go. For a moment, he paused at the foot of the gurney, looking at the body. "Goodbye, Roadbuster." He saluted and went out.

"You going to be all right?" asked the nurse, washing her hands. "I can ask the chaplain to come by. What's your religious preference? Would you like him to undergo Extreme Unction?"

"No…he wasn't religious." The tears were hot, and beginning to overflow. "I don't think he would have wanted that. I'll be all right."

"All right," said the nurse, gave her a slight hug, closed a curtain to divide the room, and left.

For some time Rally stood still, watching the occupant of the gurney through her streaming eyes. So far, her grief was nearly silent. As if she didn't want to wake a sleeper. Someone resting, someone dreaming, who would wake and get up when his dreams were finished. She'd seen Bean asleep before, and unconscious, and with his eyes simply closed. This wasn't the same.

So still. Nothing moved at all; not his chest nor his eyelids nor the pulse on the unstitched side of his throat. She realized that the tiny movements, the breathing and the blinks and the little vibration of the heart beating, were the real seat of life. Bean wasn't given to small movements. He was fast, he was large, he was powerful. That had been the nature of his life. But the absence of any gross motion wasn't the reason he was dead. He was dead because his heart had ceased to beat, because he no longer breathed, because his eyes lay unseeing beneath his closed lids.

Rally sat on a stool and pulled it up to the side of the gurney, then lowered the rail. There was his wounded, unbandaged right hand, the thumb turned into the palm with the entire loss of muscular tension. She picked it up. Already, he was ice-cold. Raising his hand to her lips, she pressed it gently to her cheek and put it back.

"Bean?" she said. "I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know where you are now. I don't know if it's just black and nothing, or if you know what's happening or not. I really don't know. But I guess I'm going to talk to you anyway."

Rally swallowed hard and went on. "I'll do what I can, Bean. I'll try to straighten out your affairs, what little I know about them. I wish I knew where you lived, so I could go and tidy things up when I get home. Take care of things for you. I guess no one's going to do that, because no one knows where you lived. At least, I don't think so. Maybe you told someone, but you didn't tell me. I don't know what the place where you lived is like."

She thought about his former residence that she had seen only once, a small apartment above an enormous garage. "Your cars are there, I guess. No one's going to drive them now. They're going to sit there and gather dust on the hoods and the windshields, and the gasoline will settle out and the hoses will crack and the oil thicken in the pans. The tires will lose their air. The seats will stiffen and the steel will rust. Those cars won't know what happened to you, because they're just cars. They're patient, because they're machines. They do only what you tell them to do. They're going to sit there and wait for you, and you're not going to come back. Ever..."

What would happen to Bean, to his vacant body? Would he be cremated or buried and left to rot? For once, she preferred the idea of cleansing fire.

"The building will be empty, and bricks will get thrown through the windows, and graffitti will be sprayed all over the walls. Eventually they'll have to tear it down because it's been abandoned so long. Some day, years from now, someone's going to cut the locks off the doors and look inside before the wrecking balls strike. They're going to find your place, and your cars, and they're going to wonder who lived there. The cars will get towed away, or junked because no one will be insane enough to drive that kind of car any more, years from now, and everything you owned will get thrown into a dumpster.

"They're going to wonder; what kind of guy lived here all alone? All alone, with a garage full of cars? Who was he? Why didn't anyone come and tidy up, if he died away from home or something? If he died, why didn't anyone give a damn?" Tears dripped off the end of her chin and her nose, hitting the white sheet beside Bean's hand. "You know I gave a damn, Bean. Don't you know? I wish you had told me where you lived."

Someone parted the curtains. "Miss? The nurse told me you might need someone to talk to. I'm a hospital volunteer. And I'm a part-time minister, if you want a clergyman."

"He wasn't religious," said Rally again, wiping tears away with the back of her hand.

"Yes, I know that. Well, that's not really why I'm here. I'm just here to talk. How about you? Are you religious?"

"I don't know."

"But you might still want to talk to someone."

"Maybe. Come on in."

The volunteer, an elderly man of indeterminate race dressed in a polo shirt, came in and stood at the foot of the gurney. "I'm Michael. Will you tell me your name?"

"Rally."

"Hello, Rally. Will you tell me who this man is? Not your husband?"

"No. A friend. My partner." Rally put her hand on Bean's again. "Sort of my lover... His name was Bean. Bean Bandit."

"I see." Michael pulled up another stool on the opposite side of the gurney. "I understand he was murdered."

"Uh-huh."

"And that you saw it happen? I'm so sorry. Too many people have seen murder and violence. I know that this life has a lot of that kind of thing, but I'm sorry that a young woman like you had to see that."

"Thank you."

"Bean was a good friend of yours?"

"Uh-huh. He saved my life. Several times. A really good friend."

"I see." Michael leaned forward and put one hand briefly on Bean's chest. "Do you believe in God, Rally?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't think I'm religious, but I believe in God."

"Can you find comfort in the thought of Bean being with God?"

Rally, to her horror, snorted in laughter. "Oops. Sorry."

Michael shook his head in a sympathetic manner. "Don't worry. People react to death in all kinds of ways. I've seen all kinds of things, so don't worry. What is funny about that thought?"

"I don't know…just the image of him on a cloud with a harp." Rally laughed again with a hint of tears. "Not his thing."

"What would his idea of heaven have been?"

"Oh, gosh…lots of beer! And ribs, and cigarettes that don't kill you, because you're already dead, and cars that never run out of gas or get a flat. Endless highways with no semis or speed bumps or little old ladies in Cadillacs." Rally laughed and cried at the same time. "Mountains and cities in the distance, and fresh air. Always a clear paved road in front of him, and the cops are all fat and slow and driving broken-down Yugos. The highway goes wherever he thinks it should, and he drives. Just keeps driving, as far and as fast as he wants to go." She sobbed out loud, smiling up at the ceiling. "God, I hope so. God, I hope it's like that."

"With God, all things are possible," said Michael, smiling.

"What about him going to heaven at all?" Rally wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "That's not really possible, is it? He wasn't a law-abiding citizen or anything. He didn't care about anyone's rules but his own. He broke the rules all the time." _And I wished him in hell so many times…I wished him in hell!_ She bit her lips. "Don't you go to hell for breaking the rules? Does that always happen?"

"I don't think I'm qualified to answer that, but I wouldn't say that it's all about rules. The most saintly of us sometimes break the rules, and even the most hardened criminal can be open to God. None of us can know the state of another person's soul. God alone knows that."

"No, but I don't think he was…ready. Not ready to die, and I don't mean because he was only twenty-nine, because I don't know if he ever would have changed as long as he lived. He wasn't thinking about the end of his life, and if he ever did, I doubt he ever thought about God."

"It's never too late," said Michael. "For this earthly life, perhaps." He looked at Bean and put a hand on his chest again, moving it slightly as if to find a heartbeat that wasn't there. "But it's never too late for God. I know that for a fact."

"I doubt he ever prayed or anything. He never asked God for anything."

"What about you? What do you want to ask God, Rally?"

"I…I want to ask for Bean to have another chance." Rally dropped her head. "He did bad things, and no one ever taught him better. He learned a lot of the wrong things in his life and he didn't do much to learn the right things. He kind of blew it, frankly. So did a lot of other people, and that's part of it, though a lot of it was his own doing. But if he could…if he had a chance, he might ask for forgiveness."

Rally closed her eyes, then lowered her head to the gurney beside Bean, putting her forehead on both hands and clasping his cold hand in her own. "I know he was capable of that. He was able to admit he was wrong when he realized that he'd made a mistake, and he tried to make up for what he'd done wrong. That's what I would ask for, God. I'd say, God, please let him have another chance. You know his soul, God, and you know if he asked you for forgiveness. If he knows he was wrong and he wants to do better, help him, please. There's no way for him to repay the debt, so I know nothing but mercy will save him. You're the only one who can help him now…"

Rally woke with a start, her whole body jerking. She had fallen asleep on the bedside stool, her head pillowed on the gurney. For one instant, she thought the whole thing had been a dream. Perhaps she had only imagined that Bean lay dead, or only imagined that she had asked him to help with the rescue. Only imagined that she had led him to his death. Perhaps none of this had happened. But there was a cold hand in hers. She sat up and blinked her eyes to clear them. Michael had left and no one was with her, but Bean's body still lay on the gurney.

She looked at his face, knowing it would be utterly still, utterly white and motionless. It was, save for the blue bruises on chin and cheekbone. He was dead. Rally let out a deep, sad sigh, the brief, tiny hope she had had upon waking only pulling the reality into sharper focus. No one got a second chance—she knew that. Bean would never have asked for one. He'd known that the decisions he'd made in life were final. Heaven of any kind was not for him…

"Bean, I guess I have to go now. I wish I didn't." Her watch told her she had been asleep for about ten minutes, if that. Like the way she had slept briefly in Bean's car just after the fire in the pier. Perhaps it was her brain's way of giving her a respite from unbearable pain.

But she had to keep going. It was now a quarter past eleven. "I wish I could stay with you until they have to take you away. But May's been kidnapped, and Tiffany Brown is still a hostage, and… Oh, Bean, I wish you could help me. I hope you'd want to. Be with me, huh, pal?"

Rally leaned over the gurney and touched Bean's sprawling black hair. She thought about cutting a lock of it, but decided that was truly maudlin. She didn't need a bit of him to remember him by, though she wished she had a good photograph—any photograph at all, if it showed him alive. He was dead and she didn't want to take anything away from the dead. Although there was something she could give him back, now that it was too late. His face looked peaceful and blank; it was barely possible to imagine he only slept.

Rally bent lower and kissed Bean's lips. Cold and slack against his teeth—she nearly recoiled, but pressed the kiss more firmly, tears rolling down her face. This was the last time she would ever be able to touch him. The last time anyone who cared for him would touch him. Perhaps, somewhere, wherever he was, he would know.

With the heat of her skin, the warmth of her tears, his lips seemed to lose some of their chill. His mouth was still resilient, yielding under her touch, almost responding, almost parting, almost breathing…

Rally sat bolt upright, staring, and put her hand on Bean's chest. He let out a slight sound, like a sigh heart-deep. Then another.

"DOCTOR! DOCTOOORRR! DOOOCTOOORRR!"

Feet down the corridor, snail-slow it seemed and the curtains opened room spinning and hot as an oven. Sweat. Heartbeat like a piston slamming, blood roaring in the ears. Hard to hear own voice echoing in the chambers of the head, something like _alive alive alive alive_ and the nurse pitying, not understanding, frantic pointing and ear to his chest, grabbing the stethoscope and gesturing. Listen listen not air escaping from the lungs no you're wrong it was breathing, I know, I know, I kissed him and he knew it…

"Ms. Vincent?" said the doctor when he eventually came, sounding aggrieved and compassionate at the same time. "I know, it can sometimes seem like they're breathing. As the body settles. We had a flat scan on all vitals. No brain activity, not even the lowest level. No heartbeat. No one comes back from that." Another nurse entered and looked at the first one, silently communicating what Rally didn't want to hear.

"But…I knew it. I kissed him. He responded…" _Please, God, no, not again, don't let me know again that he's dead…_

The doctor sighed and leaned over the gurney. "I'll listen for a minute. All right? I have patients waiting." He placed the cup of his stethoscope, once, twice, his face conveying forbearance. Then a slight frown. Then dawning, drawing open like curtains letting in the noon sun.

"STAT!" he bellowed, and the nurses exploded into activity. "I want EKG! I want four units type-matched whole blood! I want oxygen!" A crowd pressed into the cubicle with equipment and supplies, pushing Rally into a corner, bending over Bean and applying, sticking, hooking up to him everything under the sun. The EKG began to read out again, an irregular beep, but slowly, steadily increasing in strength and rhythm.

The people working over him hid him almost entirely from view. All she could see was glimpses of his bare feet. The toes twitched, a tiny movement of life. She slid slowly down the wall, legs giving way under the press of incredulous, overwhelming gratitude. _Oh, thank you. Thank you. Dear God, thank you…_

* * *

"Call it whatever the hell you want," said the doctor, looking exhausted. "The only thing I've really learned in sixteen years of emergency-room practice is that I do not know a damn thing about what is possible for the human body. I truly, absolutely believed he was dead. I have never seen vital signs like that on a person who could be resuscitated, and I have never known an adult with those vital signs to just wake up and start breathing on his own twenty-five minutes later with no obvious signs of brain damage. Never.

"But I am not omniscient and neither are the machines. Obviously, because that man I was sure was dead spoke a few reasonably coherent words to me and is now sleeping like a baby in the ICU with a couple more pints of crystalloid dripping into his veins. Damn, I want that toxicology analysis now!" He picked up his foam cup of coffee and drained it. "I'm going to order another four units of packed red cells when we get the AB-negative from the UCSF blood bank. He used up our whole damn type-compatible supply. Not that I grudge it to him. It could be a miracle from heaven, as you seem to want to imply, and it could be that he is just one tough motherfucker who wouldn't give up."

He shook his head. "Or you are his magical fairy princess and brought him back to life with a kiss. Take your pick."

"I like the fairy princess theory," said Rally. "I'm going to go sit with him."

"Be my guest. If kissing him brings him back from the dead, sitting with him probably brings his hematocrit up to normal in no time."

Rally smiled and headed back to the ICU. In the bed, Bean lay with one nurse maintaining the bags suspended above his head. He wasn't flushed, but he had regained some color, and when she took his hand, it was merely cool. His face twitched in sleep, his chest rose and fell. Rally gazed at him silently, pressing his hand, and when his eyes briefly opened, she leaned over and touched his chest. He recognized her with a faint smile and a weak squeeze of the hand she held.

Tongue moistening his lips, he whispered something she didn't catch, though she put her ear directly above his mouth, and fell asleep again. She sat watching him breathe for a long time. The nurse checked the monitors and left.

"Miss," said another nurse, "there's an FBI agent asking for you. In Dr. Gage's office."

"OK." Rally squeezed Bean's hand and put it on his chest, then backed out of the cubicle, keeping her eyes on his face until the curtain fell into place. She'd nearly lost him. Not again. Never again…

Outside the office the nurse pointed her to, Rally hesitated. She heard voices. Loud, angry.

"This is INSANE! You have to arresd hib!" That was Wesson, muffled through his broken nose. "He assaulded an FBI agent! Be! He would have KILLED be!"

"Yeah, if she hadn't stopped him," acknowledged Smith. "For cripe's sake, he didn't realize it wasn't Brown! I swear, _I'd_ take a shot at Sly if he showed up now!"

"Thad's a fucking _Federal crime_! Not to bention whad he did yesderday, and…and everything he's done in his endire LIFE! YOU HAVE TO ARRESD HIB!"

"Bob…I promised her."

"Whad the hell does thad hab to do wid anything? He hadn'd tried to beat be to death at the time! Maybe you don'd care about your goddab elbow, but he left a mark on be for life! By profile will never be the sabe again—and I look like a crook with this cheek slash! Like sobe kind of sdreet fighder!"

"What's so friggin' awful about that? Honorable wounds!"

"Has id occurred to you that id's againsd the law to addack Federal law enforcebend officers! He could pull thirdy years for whad he's done in the last week alone! And you were a WIDNESS! Whad the fuck is the badder wid you?"

A short silence. "I don't fucking know. Anyone else, I'd cuff him right in the ICU. But if I do that, that girl will never forgive me."

"OK, OK, I ged id now! He's her lover, they've been in cahoods with each other all along, you sobehow APPROVE, and if you shib her big stud off to jail, the little slud will ged MAD at you? You are INSANE!"

"Bob, I get your point. Truly, I do. But it's not like that. He came back from the fucking _dead_, Bob. I haven't pried my jaw off the floor yet, and I am in some kind of awe, I think—that man was as dead as they come. Can't you cut him a little slack? Doesn't that sort of clean the slate?"

"You are not the person he tried to kill, Pede! I ab your _pardner_. Your pardner in the Federal Bureau of Investigation for five years now! You owe be for this! THE SLADE ISN'D CLEAN!"

Smith let out a resigned sigh. "OK, already. I know. Let me break it to her first, OK? Don't go grinning in triumph, or I may just smash that nose some more." The doorknob started to turn, and Rally fled. Back along the corridor, back to the ICU and the curtained bed, her tears starting again. He was helpless and asleep and weak. There was nothing she could do to defend him now. But at least she would stay with him until they came for him. Some kind of alarm was going off, and she pulled the curtains aside. To an empty bed.

"Bean?" Rally looked around.

He was gone. No one on the bed, no one in the curtained alcove or on the floor. Just a set of disarranged covers and a dangling needle, the transfusion fluid dripping with audible splats. "Oh, no! _Bean_!" she hissed. "You're not going to get far, the state you're in!"

He had trod in the fluid, and the prints of his bare feet led out to the corridor. There they dried to nothing, and Rally looked up and down, trying not to panic. Was he still confused and disoriented? Or was he making a deliberate escape attempt? Maybe some of each.

Rally walked to the nearest door and tried it; it opened into an empty staff break room. The next door was marked 'Laundry'. She opened it and peered into darkness, feeling for the light switch. Someone grabbed her wrist, then her mouth, and pulled her inside.

"Bean!" she said through his hand. "I'm not going to turn you in! Let me go!" The grip loosened and the door closed, leaving them in total darkness. "Can I turn on the light?"

"Naw," came Bean's voice, weak and choppy. "I ain't got any pants on."

"Oh."

"I'm lookin' for some goddamn clothes…here we go…aw, shit, these wouldn't fit a dwarf." She heard something flung on the floor. "OK, this feels big enough." He hopped on one foot and tied a drawstring, the ends flapping. "You can turn the light on now."

Rally did so, and gasped at the sight of him. Covered with half-stuck-on EKG patches, his chest and face were pale and dewed with clammy sweat. The big black stitches on his neck stood out like tire tracks in snow. Bean pulled a green surgical scrub shirt over his head, which matched the pants he already wore.

"You look terrible, Bean! How can you stand up?"

"Don't…know…" he said, face going even paler, and swayed, grabbing the shelves to support himself. "Shit, I guess I need some more of that stuff they were pumpin' in…" He fell to his knees and Rally jumped to his side, trying to hold him up with both arms.

"Please, Bean! Come back and let them take care of you! You were clinically dead for twenty-five minutes! You need help!"

"They stopped the leak, right? I'm outta here." Bean tried to get up and fell backwards, carrying Rally with him. She kept his skull from cracking on the floor, then laid his head gently down with some folded towels under it.

"You can't go anywhere! I have to call someone!" Rally began to get up, and Bean grabbed her wrist.

"No! Don't put me back there—they'll shoot me full of stuff and knock me out all the way!" He half rose, his eyes wide and wild. "They'll knock me out!"

"I…OK, Bean. I won't call anyone, because I just heard Smith and Wesson fighting about whether you were going to be arrested for hitting Wesson, and Smith lost the argument. It sounds like you are still having trouble from the blood loss, and I am worried about your condition. But I don't want you to be arrested, either."

She got out the card Manichetti had given her and looked at the phone number. "I think that this is exactly what you need. Wait here!" Rally pulled a few laundry bins in front of him to conceal him from the hallway, turned the light out and shut the door behind her. Where had they put Bean's ruined clothes? That jacket had a lot of things in it that Bean would need, not the least money.

She scanned up and down the corridor and went through the ICU to see if his effects were there. The frantic nurse was calling security. Rally pretended astonishment, promised to look for Bean, and hid behind a curtain as Smith and Wesson stormed in and began to yell into phones. They were quickly shushed and escorted out, but she caught a glimpse of them as they went by. Wesson red-faced and with a large taped splint on his nose, dressed now in a plaid flannel shirt several sizes too large for him, and Smith, also red in the face, but, Rally thought, with another emotion. He was suppressing a grin. She slipped out of the ICU and found another nurse.

"Excuse me…where would they put the personal effects of someone who came in by ambulance? Someone who died in surgery?" Rally flashed her ID. "I'm looking for a fugitive."

"Hmm? Well, if he died, and it was a murder, you'd have to ask Pathology. They would have packed up his things for the coroner."

"Thank you," said Rally, and snagged a wheelchair on the way back to the laundry room. Bean was still there, half conscious and looking dreadful, and she helped him into the chair with considerable trouble. His heavy limbs wobbled like rubber, so she strapped him in, threw a blanket over his knees and rolled him out. Pathology was on the third floor, according to the signs. Rally found an isolated elevator, loaded Bean into it, took him to the third floor and left him in the elevator, telling him to hold the doors closed with the button.

No one was on duty in Pathology at this time of the night, and no one noticed Rally pick the lock of the storage room. But there were several large clear plastic bags in an upright freezer, next to jars containing stomach-turning bits of human being, and she immediately spotted the one with the remnants of a blood-soaked leather jacket and jeans.

Jogging back to the elevator with the chilly package wrapped in a sheet, she met a couple of nurses in the corridor and fervently hoped they weren't heading to the elevator. They weren't, and Rally tapped on the closed doors to tell Bean she was back.

"OK, I'm going to take you to—um..." Rally put the bag on the floor of the elevator and punched the button for the hospital's underground garage. "My hotel, I guess. I don't think anyone would think of looking for you there! I'm going to have to steal a car, because mine's not here, and I don't want a cab driver answering questions about his fares later! Boy, your jacket is totally saturated with blood—it's going to start smelling awful when it thaws! I'll have to dump it somewhere once I get all your stuff out and clean it—I guess money's pretty waterproof, because when you leave a dollar bill in your pants and they go through the washing machine it's alway OK! But first I'm going to call this number, because Manichetti gave me a card for an underground doctor, though why he would do that I don't know—"

"Whoa," said Bean as she rolled him out of the elevator into the garage.

"What?"

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" He seized the wheel of the chair and stopped it. "I'll hotwire a car, yeah. Thanks for getting my stuff and getting me out. I ain't going with you."

"What? But you're in terrible shape!" Rally protested. Bean tried to stand and grabbed the arm of the wheelchair. "I have to take care of—" A car drove into the garage and parked a few rows away.

"No way. I'm deep enough in debt as it is, Vincent." He lurched over to a late-model Cadillac and leaned on the door. "Just split. Now!"

"No, Bean! I won't!" Rally leaped to him and grabbed him under the arms for support as he began to slide to the ground. "I am going to take you to a safe place and get you a doctor!"

"Listen to me, woman—"

"I owe this to you, understand? Because you agreed to do this job for the family of a man you hate, for no other reason than that I asked you to, and I've already told you the debt is paid. I almost got you killed, Bean. The debt's on my side now."

"No, it's—"

"You let me figure what I owe you on my damn own, Bean Bandit," she shot back, poking him in the chest with a finger. Bean looked startled. "Good, that's settled. Now let's get this car open!" Rally reached for the door of the Cadillac, still holding Bean up. Someone came around the end of the row, aiming for the elevator door, and stopped short.

"Rally?" he said in a shocked voice. It was Roy Coleman. "Who the hell—oh, blessed Mother—!"

"Roy?" said Rally, equally shocked, her arms around Bean's waist. Bean let out a hiss and tensed, his legs shaking with weakness.

"W-what is HE doing here? Smith…Smith called me while I was driving over and said he was DEAD!" Roy came close enough for her to see a dark bruise on his browbone.

"He wasn't. They thought so for a while, but he wasn't. Roy…please. Let me take him out of here."

"I was coming here to help you," said Roy, miserable fury building. "I was coming here to COMFORT you! Because this bastard was dead and for some damn reason you were SORRY!" His voice broke. "Don't you realize what this guy's done to you? He's a liar and a thief and a braggart and all he wants to do with you is USE you! Look at this! Sneaking out of a hospital in the dead of night when he's looking like a ghost and about to fall down unless you hold him up! Because he can't be where HONEST people are!"

"Please, Roy."

Bean jammed his fingertips up into the rubber seal of the driver's window of the Cadillac and pushed the glass down as Rally held him.

"They're going to arrest him, isn't that right? That's why he has to crawl out a hole and escape! It's clear as day. And you're helping him dig a hole for BOTH of you!"

Bean opened the door and collapsed on the seat.

"Roy…I don't know what it is you two said to each other. Some awful things, I gather. But that has nothing to do with me!" Roy made a strange sound. "I am taking him out of here. You can help me or you can stand aside, or you can go tell the FBI that he's in the garage stealing a car with my help and that they ought to arrest both of us. I'm aiding an escaping felon, yes. He isn't using me; as a matter of fact, he's been trying to get me to leave him alone. Did it ever occur to you I might have reasons of my own for doing this?"

Roy looked as if he were about to weep. "That's what I'm afraid of, Rally. If this man has ever told you he cares about you, he's a goddamn lying—"

"I'm not deluded, Roy. This isn't a personal matter. It's a matter of professional honor. According to the rules."

Bean ripped the cowling from the steering column and fiddled with the exposed wires.

"I'm a cop. I have my duty." Roy made a move for his .38 in its shoulder holster.

"Then arrest us. Both of us, or neither. I won't resist, and Bean can't." Rally held her palms out as the Cadillac started. "We're going to go now, Roy. I'll see you later, because I know May and Tiffany need our help. Both of us, Detective." She slid into the car with the jacket in its bag, and Bean moved over to let her drive. His head fell back against the seat rest.

"Goodbye. I'll get in touch with you in a couple of hours." Rally slammed the door and pulled out of the parking space. As she drove away and aimed up the ramp for the exit, she could see Roy standing where she had left him, crying.


	18. Chapter 18

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Eighteen**

"Sir, the Roadbuster is dead."

"What?"

"He died in surgery at San Francisco General Hospital. At a few minutes before eleven." Wo parked his car in the pool of light from a battery lantern and rolled the window up again, then got out. "I spoke to a nurse and came straight back. I thought you would want to know immediately. I informed all the numbers that I could reach on the way, but I couldn't raise your cell phone—I suppose because this garage is underground."

426 let out a long hissing breath, looking up from a glowing monitor set on a card table between a BMW and his damaged Mercedes S500. The computer was plugged into a generator powered by the car batteries. "He died of his wounds? Not some other cause? Of the wounds I gave him?"

"Yes, sir."

"I must make my ceremonial preparations very thoroughly, then," said 426 half to himself. "I didn't think it was probable...but if he is dead, his _gui_ will be hungry."

"Sir?"

"Find my personal items, Wo. They are in one of these boxes—I packed in haste. I need the incense and the altar and the larger scroll. And go out to buy some candles and joss paper. I was going to the waterfront in any case, but I will need more supplies if the Roadbuster is dead."

"I'll begin opening them," said Wo in some dismay, aiming a flashlight at a solid stack of cardboard boxes four high and eight on a side, none of them labeled.

"Mmm," said 426, tapping away at his keyboard. Some distance away, through a wall, a voice wailed fretfully. 426 rolled his eyes and continued typing. The voice wailed again. "Wo. Go see why the child is complaining. I must have quiet!"

"Sir," said Wo, staggering under a heavy box.

"You put the other hostage in with her?"

"No, sir, I had them in separate—"

"Put them together! Tell Ms. Hopkins to keep that child silent!"

"Yes, sir." Wo took the keys from 426, ambled off to the wall of the garage and unlocked the door of a storage room.

"Hey!" a high voice yelled. "I need to go potty once in a while, you know! Gee-eez! I've been calling for five minutes!"

"I will take you there, Ms. Hopkins," said Wo with a sigh. 426 looked up at the ceiling with a _give-me-strength _expression.

"I'm hungry! What have you got to eat in this dump?"

"Um…instant noodles. Shrimp flavor."

"Yuck! I think the Warsaw Convention forbids feeding prisoners instant noodles! _Especially_ shrimp flavor ones! Can I order a pizza? Pepperoni with extra cheese!"

"No, she can't order a pizza," said 426 through his teeth before Wo could repeat the request. "And she can't have a different pillow, and she can't take off the chains on her legs, and she can't call the bounty hunter to say she's all right! I need QUIET!"

"You are a real creep, you know that?" May stalked out into the garage, her fettered ankles impeding her stride, folded her arms and glared at 426. "I do NOT like you!"

"Take her to the toilet, Wo, and then put her in with the child. Madame Lum will be here soon and these infants will be off our hands for the moment!" 426 turned back to his Pentium.

"Who's an infant?" growled May, making kung-fu chops in the air. 426 ignored her. Another car came into the garage, the automatic door clanging shut behind it, and pulled up near the black Mercedes. The assassin rose and approached the car, a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, and the driver emerged, opening the rear passenger door. A stocky Chinese woman with her hair wrapped in a bun stepped out, dressed in a dark brocade cheongsam and short fur jacket.

"Lum Huangling," said 426 in Cantonese, bowing slightly. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"It is my pleasure, Red Pole," said Madame Lum, returning the bow. "I understand you wish me to take charge of your hostages?"

"Yes, if you would. I am afraid they are making a nuisance of—"

Madame Lum's eyes fell on May, and her brows went up. "Merciful heavens!"

"What?" 426 turned to look at May. "Are you acquainted with this young woman?"

"I should say I am! That's May Hopkins! She was one of the girls at Low Yang's establishment in Chicago a few years back. She was an excellent cash generator, by all accounts! And had many loyal and devoted customers—an exceedingly valuable asset." May smiled and bobbed a curtsey at the sound of her name. Madame Lum switched to English. "What are you doing here, May? I thought you had retired!"

"Yes, ma'am, I had." May pulled her dress tight over her abdomen, showing her pregnant belly. "See?"

"Heavens! Who's the fortunate man?" Madame Lum's tone was falsely confidential.

"Oh, you wouldn't know him!" May giggled.

"This young woman is the partner of the bounty hunter," 426 put in. "The woman I had you search at the pier, the night of the fire."

"Partner?" Madame Lum looked confused. "Why is she with child if her partner is—"

"Not like that!" said May, giggling again. "Well, maybe once or twice! I'm just such a horny little thing, you know! I'm in the bounty hunting business now, Madame Lum! But I guess I'm not too good at it, because I got caught!" She batted her eyelashes and waggled her bottom.

"Merciful heavens," said Madame Lum, smirking.

"At any rate," said 426 in Cantonese, "Ms. Hopkins and Brown's child are my prisoners. I will not go into the details now. Will you keep them for me? It will only be for a few days, I expect."

"Of course, 426. You have only to ask." Madame Lum looked speculatively at May, replying in the same language. "I will keep them at the Pink Pearl. There are a couple of empty cells at the moment. Hmm…it is possible she may be of use, even with a child in her belly. Her talents were legendary!" May seemed to be controlling her expression, a silly smile on her face, but her eyes flickered at the conversation.

"Make any use of her you please, Lum Huangling. I am in your debt." 426 bowed and gestured to Wo, who returned to the storage room and unlocked a door in a partition within it. He bent and picked up the occupant, who cried faintly. "This is Brown's daughter, Tiffany." Wo carried the girl over to the Rolls and put her in the back seat. She slumped on the upholstery, sobbing. May, her face working, made a move for the car, then stopped.

"Ms. Hopkins, you may go to her." 426 gestured and nodded. May looked at him and jumped inside, putting a hand on Tiffany's head and speaking softly to her. The child gulped and tilted her face up to May, her dirty cheeks streaked with tears. May hugged her.

426 turned to Madame Lum. "Very well. You may allow Ms. Hopkins to care for the child. And if she attempts to escape…" He raised his voice and spoke in English. "If she attempts to escape, you may punish the child." May gritted her teeth and held Tiffany closer.

"Excellent," said Madame Lum with an unpleasant smile. "I commend your good sense, 426." She nodded to her driver, who opened the front passenger door of the Rolls. "I doubt they will be much trouble for us—"

Someone opened a stairwell door and ushered another person into the garage. A tall, lumbering man, dark-haired and jowly. He and his guard walked up to 426, the guard speaking a few words in Cantonese. Manichetti bowed low and stammered, "Sir." In the crook of his arm, he held a teddy bear.

"What do you want?" snapped 426. "I have a guest." Manichetti looked at the car, his jowls wobbling.

"Sir…I just wanted to give this to her…" He held up the bear.

"What?"

"It's…her favorite toy. Just a toy. It was in the Roadbuster's car…"

"Manny?" called a small voice full of tears. "Is that Manny talking?"

"Yes, Miss," he replied, his face trembling. "It's Manny. I've got Baby Bear."

"Baby Bear! I want Baby Bear!" sobbed Tiffany.

426 took the bear and looked it over, examining its tiny dress and the contents of the pockets. "Hmm." He extracted a plastic doll mirror and held it between forefinger and thumb.

"Just a toy, sir," begged Manichetti. "Please…"

"Very well." 426 tossed it back to him. "You have done me some service, so you may give it to her. It may help keep her quiet in any case!" He walked back to his improvised office. Manichetti and his guard approached the Rolls, and Manichetti leaned down into the open rear passenger door.

"Here you go, Miss Tiffany. I got Baby Bear for you."

"Thank you, Manny!" she cried, grabbing the toy and clutching it to her chest. "I'm glad you rescued Baby Bear!"

May looked at him, and he bit his lip. "Hello, Miss May."

"What is it with Brown's old crew?" she said sarcastically. "They all join up with the Dragons sooner or later? When are you gonna try to run Rally down with a Range Rover?"

"Miss, I…" He put one hand on Tiffany's dark-blonde head. "It was the only thing I could do, y'know? If I hadn't told 426…um, what I told him, he'd have gone ahead and…you know."

May glanced at the child, who played happily with her bear. "Really?"

"Only thing I could do, Miss. I'm sorry."

"Whatever," said May, frowning.

"I got some news for you," he whispered low. "Bean Bandit's dead."

"What?" said May, her eyes widening. "Are you sure?"

"Yep. 426 sliced him up real bad. I saw him go in the ambulance. He didn't look too good…he'd lost a helluva lot of blood. Your partner was pretty upset—" Manichetti's guard tapped his shoulder as Madame Lum got into the Rolls and the engine started.

"But…_Bean_? He's not easy to kill, you know!"

"He died at the hospital. I heard it from the Dragons. I'm real sorry." Manichetti suddenly pulled Tiffany to him and kissed her cheek, his own tears wetting it. "'Bye, honey. I'll see you later."

"'Bye, Manny!" called Tiffany as the door closed.

"Bye," echoed May. She buckled Tiffany's seat belt, then her own. As the Rolls went up the ramp and out into the darkness, May stared out the window, her expression hardening. Tiffany snuggled up against her and held her teddy bear; May's arm went around her. "I'll take care of you, sweetie. Nothing like someone to take care of to distract your mind from your own troubles!" The street lights of a warehouse district moved past the tinted windows of the Rolls.

"But…oh, Rally." Sadness passed over May's face. "Bean's dead, and you might have really cared about him, and he might have—I'm so sorry. Because I'm afraid he was the only man who ever would have been able to prove it to you..."

* * *

Bean could barely stay upright, swaying heavily and nearly knocking her over as she supported him out of the car and up the hotel's back steps, carrying the bag with the remains of his jacket.

But Rally got him to the elevator and down the hall to the room without mishap, though half-hauling his stumbling weight left her muscles aching. May had changed the room assignment while she was out, and the desk clerk had told her the number and given her the key while Bean waited with the stolen Cadillac in a back alley.

Unfortunately, the new room was only five doors down from Roy's—obviously May had thought of that as an advantage at the time! No one was in the hall in the wee hours, luckily, and Rally leaned Bean against the wall and unlocked the door. She saw her suitcase standing in the closet when she switched on the light; May had apparently packed it and put it here for her.

Bean groaned with a hand to his stitches and she turned to him. He looked terrible, sweating and white, his eyes closed, and her heart suffered a pang as she put his arm over her shoulders and helped him inside. Such a strong man, so independent and incisive, and now he was as weak as a newborn, unwillingly depending on her. Rally had often considered herself the motherly type, sometimes treating May as a child despite being only one year older, and was looking forward to being an aunt of sorts for May's baby. She had already called Dr. Lansky and negotiated payment and a hotel house call, overriding Bean's feeble objections.

This was the second time she had taken care of Bean when he had been badly injured. He lived such a dangerous life and took such tremendous risks; he needed someone around to help him and get him out of trouble when he fell in too deep. The thought startled her slightly. Was she nominating herself for the post? Her lifestyle was nearly as dangerous as his! But at least she had a partner…

Rally got Bean to the bed and eased him down on the sheets after pulling down the spread. "Here, you can lie down now. You won't have to move again until you feel better! Can you roll to the middle? I'll cover you up." She fluffed a pillow and tucked him in. "There you go. Can I get you anything to make you comfortable?"

"Kinda thirsty," mumbled Bean.

"OK; just a sec." He probably ought to be drinking water for fluid replenishment while they waited for the doctor—Rally went into the bathroom and got him a glass. Coming out, she took a good look at the whole room for the first time. It was awfully small…and had only the one queen-size bed, which Bean occupied.

"What? Oh, _no_!" May had not reserved another double for herself and Rally. She'd gotten two singles, and the clerk had given Rally the key of the one assigned to her! On purpose or not? Either way, there was nothing she could do about it right now. She would have to share the bed with Bean, who took up most of the space on his own, or she would have to sleep on the floor.

Rally took a look at Bean, whose eyes were closed; he probably hadn't noticed the one bed, and might not be in much shape to care. But crawling into bed with him? That he would notice! When he saw they were in a single room, would he think she was teasing him again while he couldn't do anything about it?

"Sounds like the floor," said Rally to herself, and put another pillow under Bean's head to let him drink as they both held the glass. He gulped down the contents and let go of it. Rally refilled it twice.

"Got any beer?" he asked, looking a little better, but still pale and shaky.

"No, I don't! You shouldn't be drinking alcohol, anyway." Bean rolled his eyes, seemed to regret doing so with a queasy expression, and lay back again with a thump on the pillow. His gaze followed her as she opened her suitcase and quickly put her clothes away in the closet and dresser. Rally wadded up her clean panties and bras in her hand before taking them out, blushing slightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like dogshit, lady," he replied, quirking a smile. Rally came over and put a hand on his forehead. "Whole room's spinning…feel like I'm gonna upchuck—damn..." Bean's eyes closed again and he made a face. She fetched the empty plastic wastebasket from the bathroom and set it beside the bed with a towel and another glass of water, then put her hand on his forehead again. Bean weakly moved his head under her touch. "Why are ya doing this?" he asked for the third or fourth time.

"Because you were hurt on a job I made you do, remember? That was really above and beyond the call, Bean." She smiled at him. "I think you truly care about that little girl! Even if she _is_ Brown's daughter."

"Eh," said Bean. Obviously he was in no shape for conversation, and that statement wasn't one he was likely to respond to in any case. He shut his eyes. Rally stood over the bed for a moment, then retreated to a chair. Minutes ticked by as she watched Bean restlessly doze and wake and doze again.

She checked her watch. When was that doctor going to come? Bean was possibly out of immediate danger, but another transfusion would probably make the difference between rapid recovery and days of disability. He couldn't afford to be helpless, not with the Dragons, the FBI and the SFPD on his tail—but aside from his uneasiness with the favors she was doing for him, he didn't seem apprehensive any more. Though he might not like running up debts, she had the feeling that he didn't truly dislike her presence or her solicitude.

Rally waited a few minutes longer and got up to use her phone in the bathroom, closing the door to avoid disturbing Bean. She took the bloody jacket out of the plastic bag and put it in the bathtub, running warm water over it to thaw it all the way.

"Pete? It's Rally."

"I was wondering when the hell you were planning to call! Bandit vanished out of the hospital! You looking for him?"

"Uh, yes." She swished the jacket in the tub and watched the blood swirl through the water.

"Good—I asked Coleman where you'd gone and he just mumbled. I suppose he wouldn't mind if the guy turned up dead in a ditch—dead again, I mean." Smith let out a snorting laugh. "That is really one for the record books. The doctor's P.O.'ed that Bean split so soon—I think he wanted to write him up for a medical journal or something!"

"Um, yeah, probably. Is there any news about May? Or Tiffany Brown?"

"No. I'm sorry, but the signal from our tracer cut out after a while. That means one of several possibilities: it quit working, she's passed it through her system—unlikely this soon—or she's underground or otherwise shielded from radio transmissions."

"Underground?" Rally yelped.

"I'm talking about a basement or parking garage or something like that. You thought I meant buried?"

"It occurred to me!" She wedged the phone between jaw and shoulder, pulling out the money from the back of Bean's jacket. It was stuck together with absorbed blood. The smell was strong and metallic and rather nauseating, but she let the bills soak for a minute. "What's the plan to get her and May back?"

"No leads, as I say. We're keeping the frequency open. It may turn up again. We've got an army of agents calling in every favor and informant we have. In the mean time, we may have to wait for 426. He's not likely to let his captives go to waste. Probably working out what to do next."

"With Manichetti's help?"

"That SOB," Smith spat. "Bad as his boss. I am sorry I ever dealt for one moment with Sly Brown! We've got Mrs. Brown at UCSF for routine examination. Seems she wasn't molested, though. Recently."

"Recently?"

"The doc just told me she has…bite marks. Scars, some of them years old, some about a month new. All the same set of teeth, all in spots that wouldn't show in a bathing suit."

"Oh, my God."

"I told you Sly tried everything under the sun. Some of it on his wife, apparently."

Rally's stomach turned over. "Ugh." She had never been so glad that Brown's looks and money had not penetrated her defenses. She looked at the blood in the water. "Why does 426 now believe he's dead? Did…Manichetti tell him so? You remember how adamant he was that Brown was dead, until we forced him to say otherwise?"

"I do." Smith clicked his teeth. "And even after he admitted Brown had escaped the warehouse, he insisted he wouldn't show up for tonight's shindig, and he was right, obviously. I guess he convinced 426."

"I guess so, but I wonder how. If Manichetti has some kind of solid evidence, why didn't he tell us what it was?"

"I don't know. If it's good enough for the Dragons, it certainly would have been good enough for us, I'd imagine. But it might prove one thing, I think."

"That Manichetti took off because he knew he could save Tiffany?" said Rally. "You know, Pete, I think he might be all right." She took the doctor's card out of her pocket and looked at the writing on the back.

"That's as may be. We can thank God she's still alive as far as we know. 426 apparently needs time, but so do we."

Someone knocked on the door of the room. Rally opened the bathroom door and looked at Bean, who was asleep again. "I have to go, Pete. I'll call again as soon as I can."

"Something to take care of?" Smith's tone told her he had some idea of where she was, or at least of what she was doing. "OK. Talk to you later."

Rally put the phone away and opened the door. A man with a pair of large black cases stood there, looking rather sleepy. "Are you Dr. Lansky?"

"I am," he replied, hauling the cases inside. "Where's my patient?"

"Right there in the bed." Rally turned all the lights on. "He's been asleep or out of it most of the time."

"Hmm," said the doctor, opening one of the cases. "You have the money?"

"Yes. It's kind of…wet, though."

"Is it? Let's see it."

Rally returned to the bathroom and collected several wads of hundreds that floated in the tub, running some clean water over them to rinse them more thoroughly. They were still mottled with reddish-brown stains and smelled strong, but she patted the bills dry and brought them into the bedroom cradled in a hotel towel. "Here. Five thousand even."

"Good God," said the doctor in distaste at the blood-stained money, sitting on Bean's bed and listening to his lower abdomen through a stethoscope. "Well, I can't afford to be too picky, considering my clientele…hmm."

"How is he?" Bean looked only partly conscious.

"How much blood did he lose in all?"

"About ten units. He had transfusions of five units, plus three or four bags of other stuff—clear fluids?"

"All right, I understand. I've brought four units of packed red cells—that's concentrated blood, more or less." He pulled a small foam cooler from his case. "O-negative, since I couldn't get AB-negative—you realize that's the rarest type? Even this was not easy to buy, I'll tell you, which is why I'm a bit late."

"But doesn't he have to have the same type?"

"Not necessarily. O-negative is the universal donor, so he should tolerate it—as far as I know. It's not like I can do a complete antibody analysis here. Once we get this in him, he'll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

The doctor set up the IV stand, snapped on a pair of gloves and fixed a shunt in Bean's chest, then hung the bag and started the transfusion. "Watch what I'm doing here, because you are going to have to change the bags. Warm the next one by putting it in a sinkful of not-too-hot water. Don't let air bubbles get in the lines, see?"

He gave Rally a quick nursing lesson and prepared an injection. "This is for his pain. I'll leave you three more ampules of Demerol. That slash on his neck must be agony. What's under this bandage on his right hand?"

"Three stab wounds. They missed the tendons, luckily."

"I see he's had a dislocated shoulder, from the bruises here. It seems to be back in the socket."

"Yes, he stopped a car all by himself—"

"No, don't tell me," said the doctor with a sardonic grin, injecting Bean's IV line. "I honestly don't want to know. That will have to heal on its own, though a sling for the arm might ease the discomfort." He took out a large square of white cloth and bound up Bean's left arm. "Well, his body's already working to replace the blood he lost, and the red cells will go a long way towards that. I can see he's got a good constitution, so he should be feeling fine in twenty-four hours."

"OK. What can I give him?"

"Whatever he wants. Lots of fluids, but avoid caffeine and alcohol. He doesn't have much intestinal activity at the moment, which is to be expected, but when he's hungry, feed him."

"How about, um…" She gestured at the bathroom.

"I didn't bring any bedpans. He should be feeling well enough to use the toilet in a few hours in any event." The doctor blotted the money with the towel and stuffed it in one of his cases. "All right, you're set up. Goodbye."

"That's it?"

"That's it." He snapped the case shut and picked up the other one. "The equipment's yours. Just snap the ampule into the base of the syringe to give him more painkiller. Dispose of the needles in a container, OK?" The doctor left.

"Oboy," muttered Rally, looking at the tubes and needles. "I am not trained for this..." Bean's eyes were open now, the painkiller apparently taking effect, and he blinked at her.

"Five thou for that?"

"I wasn't going to haggle at a time like this!"

"Why the hell not? 'Course, it ain't _your_ dough…" He rolled his eyes.

"Sorry! Don't you think your health is worth a few expenses? You have plenty of cash left, anyway!"

"You know how much this damn trip is going to end up costing me?"

"How much?"

"Haven't added it up yet," Bean growled. "Probably gonna have a damn heart attack when I do!"

"You're the one who chased Brown out here."

"Yeah, more fool I." He looked at her. "And you're the one who chased me, Vincent. When you planning to give up?"

"Give up?" He meant something by that.

"Not yet, I guess." Bean sighed. "You're stuck with me for a little while longer, lady. I don't like it any more than you do, but if you think you owe me, you owe me. Well, soon as I feel like I can walk without fallin' flat on my ass, I'm off yer hands."

"Fine with me," said Rally, unaccountably stung. Of course he wanted to recover and be on his own, but he might have put it a little less bluntly. "OK, I have to get your clothes at some point. Surgical scrubs and bare feet might do all right for pajamas, but they'd attract attention as street wear! Where are your things?"

"In my car. You won't be able to get it, though."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I didn't leave it in a goddamn public pay lot, that's why. Guy that's got it won't let anybody but me have it. I told him that real clear."

"Oh. Well, I could go out and buy you some clothes—I guess I know your sizes…um."

"Uh… Where's the stuff from my jacket pockets?"

"Well, I'm working on that!" Rally returned to the bathroom and put a transfusion bag into the sink with warm water. The rest of Bean's possessions she scrubbed and soaped until they were presentable, and brought them to him, dumping a towel full of tools, wallet, headband and his soggy cell phone on the nightstand. Bean rose slightly to look at it and raised a brow at her.

"Well, gosh, everything was caked with blood! The phone should be all right once it dries. I'm still soaking the rest of the cash." She sat down by the bed, took each item and wiped it, shaking water from the wallet and cell phone. "Bleeding to death gets a little messy!"

"No shit?"

"Bean, according to the machines…you were dead." Rally looked at him as she wrung out a bandanna. "You certainly looked dead. What do you remember?"

"Remember? I dunno."

"OK, what's the last thing you recall?"

"Why?"

"Well…gee, I guess I want to know…where you were." _While I was talking to you, thinking it was the last time. While I kissed you…_

"Where? Thought I was in a hospital." He shrugged.

"No, I mean…did you hear what was going on in the room? I sat with you, you know. I, um, I touched you. When I thought you were dead. You know, I was crying and I—"

"Yeah?" said Bean noncommittally. "Guess I wasn't in shape to notice."

"OK, then did you see anything unusual? I've read about near-death experiences, and I wondered if you, um, met anyone from your past or went through a tunnel of light or anything like that…?" She trailed off; Bean was looking at her with mild contempt. "Uh, not to get all New Age fruitcake on you."

"Yeah, let's not," said Bean with positive emphasis.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Starting to, yeah."

"You really don't remember anything? What about the ambulance? You were talking about all kinds of things while your blood supply was so low."

He rolled his eyes. "Doubt I said anything that made sense."

"It did make some sense. Not all of it…but I think it might have if I knew what it was about. Some of it sounded like things that happened a long time ago." Bean said nothing, picking up and examining his cell phone. "And some of it was about things that just happened this week. Like…" Rally picked up another item to dry and discovered it was a strip of packaged condoms. "Uh…" She dropped them into a fold of the towel on her lap, blushing. "Like the night we had…"

"Great." Bean lay back with an irritated expression. "Me and my big mouth!"

"Is it an intrusion to talk about what's happened? Don't you think we should?"

"I got a choice?" Bean looked at the IV line and transfusion bag as if it were a ball and chain.

"Bean…you…you said you'd wanted me for a long time. I…I think I felt the same way…about you." Rally knew her face was burning red, but she forged on. "I didn't realize it until today, not really. After you asked my forgiveness and I talked to May. It's, it's something I know isn't what we might think is convenient, or something we really ought to do anything about…but we _did_ do something, you know, and…Bean, when I thought you were dead I felt—"

"What's yer point?"

"I…I don't know. I just wanted to talk…"

Bean finally looked at her, his eyes both eloquent and opaque. "Guess I ain't so damn stupid I don't know to steer away from a woman who says she just wants to _talk_! We did the nasty, OK? I know it, you know it, and I oughta know better by now! Can we drop it?"

Rally's chin wobbled. "I guess so. If you want. I only thought we should clear the air." She got up and put the towel on the nightstand. "I'll go check how clean the cash is…and change your transfusion bag, because it's getting low, and I guess I should call Roy to check in because I doubt he's sleeping right now anyway—"

"Sorry, I ain't a talker." He sounded a little apologetic, a little regretful, but mostly resentful. "Why jaw about somethin' that's settled anyhow? I know it ain't going to happen any more. You don't hafta keep reminding me!"

Turning on his side, he closed his eyes. Rally's throat constricted. It was like hearing steel doors clang shut between them. Was it just that he felt trapped and impotent, lying wounded and sick to his stomach in her room and her bed, poked and prodded and interrogated? She could sympathize; she had felt much the same way the first time Smith and Wesson had grilled her.

Or perhaps he kept thinking and dreaming about what had happened in her car—he had said so more than once, and not always in delirium—and if he didn't close the door on that memory as firmly as he could, something would escape. Something that Bean Bandit feared could break out from his conscious control must be frighteningly strong. Neither of them wanted that to happen. Did they?

With a rush of warmth to the surface of her body, Rally's heart went out to him. Bean's back was turned to her, his eyes shut. In a strange way his reserve was liberating. She didn't have to keep up her own defenses if he chose to close himself off, for safety's sake or whatever reason he had hit upon. If he would only speak to her, tell her how he felt about her, perhaps say something like what he had said that morning…

'_I just want to know if you would've slept in my bed that night…Just that night?'_ Rally sat down on the opposite edge of the bed and looked at Bean. He thought she didn't want him again, that once had been more than enough for her, and he was wrong. Should she tell him? What could she say?

_I can't help reminding you about it, because I can't forget it?_ She couldn't have him again—they did both know better by now—so telling him would only torment him. But she wished so much, against all sense, that it wasn't so.

Perhaps it was better that Bean hadn't wanted to talk, if what he might have said was cold or crude, but at that moment Rally longed to touch him, to hold him, to let him know he didn't have to be alone. More than anything, she wanted to lie down on that bed, in the dented, body-warmed space he had left behind him when he had rolled to the edge, and put her arms around him. She wouldn't do anything else. Just sleep in the same bed with him for that one night…

Rally didn't want to put a name to the desire, because she had to feel it as it formed, let it take its own path in her mind and body without twisting it to fit a label. Bean was her friend in need; that was all she really knew, and all that she could know unless he chose to tell her otherwise. And she knew very well that he never would.

"OK, Bean," she said, softly, in case he had fallen asleep again. The caressing tone in her voice seemed to come from a deeper source within her than she had known existed. "I understand."

* * *

"This is Baby Bear," said Tiffany. "Baby Bear, say good morning to May."

"Good morning, Baby Bear," said May. "I'm very pleased to meet you." She gravely shook hands with the teddy.

"See, Baby Bear has pockets," said Tiffany. "I can put stuff in them." She produced a tiny plastic baby bottle and a broken doll mirror. "I don't have my toys with me. I had to leave them in my old room. I'm glad Manny brought Baby Bear."

"I'm sure Baby Bear is glad to be with you," said May, smiling.

Tiffany smiled and sprang up from the cot they sat on. She did a little twirling dance with the teddy, a dance small in area, because the cell was only ten feet square and held two cots. "See? I'm a good dancer. I took dance lessons. My daddy wanted me to."

"Really?"

Tiffany stopped twirling. "I want my daddy." Her face fell. "I want to see Daddy. I wish he would come back from his trip and take me away from the bad people and bring me some more toys."

"Uh…well, I can see you're looking forward to that." May smoothed her crumpled dress and made both beds, then sat and combed Tiffany's hair with her fingers.

"I like toys," said the little girl after a few moments.

"I like toys too, sweetie."

"I was crying because I didn't have my toys. Manny asked me to stop crying, because it made him want to cry too. I tried to stop. I wanted my Playstation and my Barbies. Manny said he could get me some more, but not right now. We were staying someplace and I couldn't go outside or play loud or anything. He looked in his pockets for something for me to play with so I could stop crying. He found something really pretty. Want to see?" She plopped down next to May again.

"Sure."

Tiffany stuck a little finger into the teddy's dress pocket. "Look. Isn't it pretty?" She produced an oval object about an inch long, an earring in a diamond frame, and held it out on her palm. "Mama says it's a safire and it's too dark for her. But I like them. See, there's two of 'em."

May's eyes grew round. "A pair of dark blue sapphire earrings?"

"Uh-huh. See, I can clip them on Baby Bear's ears!" Tiffany did so and held the teddy in the light, turning it back and forth to let the sapphires flash. "Doesn't Baby Bear look nice?"

"Really nice, Tiffany." May shook her head with a smile. "Jewels are a girl's best friend, huh? So that's what happened to them!"

"Do you have any toys, May?"

"Lots! At home, mostly."

"Do you have any teddy bears?"

"Yep."

"Aren't you kind of big for teddy bears?" said Tiffany reprovingly.

"Uh…maybe. But I can give them to my baby!"

"Is there a real baby in your tummy?"

"You bet!" May patted her abdomen.

"Is it a boy baby or a girl baby?"

"A boy."

"Yuck," said Tiffany. "I like girls better. I want a sister." May laughed.

"Breakfast!" said a young woman outside, putting a key in the lock. "Are you in the way of the door?"

"Nope," said May, putting an arm around Tiffany. "Come on in, Pai Li!"

The door opened to admit the woman, a pretty Chinese in her middle twenties wearing a silk dressing gown and slippers. "I went to the kitchen to see if they had any milk for the kid, but no luck. Does she like congee?" Pai Li put a tray of dishes on the sole chair. "I did find some orange juice. Here's a couple of glasses!"

"What's congee?" said Tiffany, looking skeptically at a steaming bowl of white porridge.

"Chinese soft rice," said May. "It's good with sugar!"

"It looks totally gross," said Tiffany, wrinkling her nose. May and Pai Li laughed.

"I'll go shopping!" said Pai Li. "Nearly everyone here is Asian or Russian, so all we have is rice and eggs and Chinese sausages for breakfast."

May picked up a bowl of congee, sprinkled white sugar over it, and shovel-slurped it expertly into her mouth with the aid of a porcelain spoon and a quick twist of the bowl. "Yum! Good!" She rubbed her stomach and made a delicious face at Tiffany. "Though you might want to let it cool for a minute!"

"Gosh, honey," said Pai Li, sitting down on the other cot. "It's been years! It's so nice to see you! Even if you did get me fired from the Almond Club!"

"Sorry about that," replied May, slurping more congee and pulling a sad-puppy look. "I felt so bad about having to just bust Rally in to take care of the assassin! Didn't the police close the place down for a while?"

"Yeah, and for some reason the management blamed me! Oh, they were total jerks—forget it! I have a wonderful job here, and I'm moving up! The weather's so much nicer in California—I bet you wish you lived here!"

"Golly. You have all the luck."

"What a bummer you're all locked up and everything. I wish you could come hang out in the lounge with the girls before we open. I want all the Chicago gossip!"

"Mmm, I do have a lot of gossip!" giggled May. Tiffany smelled a spoonful of congee.

"But I'm afraid Madame Lum wouldn't like it if I let you out. She left strict instructions. She'd have a cow!"

"Don't you mean a water buffalo?"

"Ah-hah-hah-ha!" gasped Pai Li, turning pink. She and May giggled for a moment. "Oh, that's good! Unfortunately, I report straight to her—I'm the assistant manager, you know."

"Oh, you've got responsibilities?"

"You betcha! But I still take my regulars—I am saving SO much dough! You know, this is a high-rolling joint. Someone like you could really raise our profit margin—"

"Pai Li?" said another young woman in the corridor, speaking in a heavy accent. "Anastasia been doing crack again! You talk her? She be high as moon, and it only eight-thirty! "

"Oh, no! Madame Lum's going to send her to the minors!" sighed Pai Li. "'Scuse me, May! Have to take care of business!"

"Of course! Talk to you later?"

"Oh, honey! I'll see what I can do about this cell stuff! I mean, really, you are TOTALLY going to waste here! Talk to you later!" Pai Li patted May's head, got up and left, locking the door behind her.

"Is that lady really a friend of yours?" asked Tiffany, nibbling at a tiny bit of breakfast. "If you're nice to her, is she gonna be nice to us?"

"I think so…" May's eyes narrowed. "Though I might have to be a little nicer than I really want to be," she said low.

"OK. This tastes kind of different from Captain Crunch."

"Have some sugar on it," said May, sweetening Tiffany's bowl.

* * *

"Yes, about a twenty-six by thirty-eight—none in ordinary blue, huh?—and an extra-extra-large T-shirt—I guess black is the best choice out of those too, because neither purple nor orange is his color, and, um, I guess that jacket—that's a fifty-two long? Yeah, the charcoal grey one. OK, that's not too expensive, and it ought to fit."

Rally put a couple of packages of socks and underwear down on the counter of the Big and Tall store and pulled out a wad of Bean's damp cash. "Oh, geez, he needs a pair of shoes, too! I couldn't salvage his boots…"

"Doesn't he want to try some on himself?" said the slightly perplexed clerk, taking the jacket off the hanger. "It's hard to fit shoes by size alone."

"He's…well, he's sick. Bad cold! Can't come out shopping." Rally smiled and gestured at the shoe display. "Just give me a pair of those black Reeboks. Size fifteen regular."

"All right. I'll get the jeans too." The clerk went into the stock room for a moment and returned with a shoebox and a pair of folded black jeans. "Here you go. Shall I ring it up?"

"Sure. That's all I need for now."

"Wrecked all his clothes falling off a pier? Didn't he have a suitcase along on the trip?"

"Yep, and the suitcase is swimming with the fishes!" chuckled Rally. "He's kind of clumsy being so tall. Never saw the ocean before and he got a little excited. Ran right off the end and SPLASH! It's all gross and mucky on the bottom. Everything he was wearing is filthy and absolutely whiffs!"

"Oh, gosh, my boyfriend is JUST like that…" The clerk nattered on for a few minutes, scanning all the prices into the register. "Gee, this money got wet too? And he caught cold? Poor guy!"

"Uh-huh! Crazy vacation, huh?"

"Sounds like it! Good luck!"

"Thanks!" Rally took her purchases and went to look for a McDonald's. She'd spotted one on the way out from the hotel while moving the stolen Cadillac into another neighborhood, and didn't want to risk room service for two as long as Roy was staying in the same place and on the same hall. When she returned to her room schlepping the two big clothing bags, a drugstore bag and two from McDonald's, Bean was just waking and sitting up in bed. She put the bags into the entryway and closed the door.

"Good morning!" she chirped. "Did you see the note I left? Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I guess." Bean looked around with a suspicious air. "This is a _single_ room?"

"Uh, yeah…May changed everything around while I was out. I guess they didn't have any unreserved doubles on a Saturday." Rally unpacked the food and laid it out on the table.

"Here, I got a couple of pancake breakfasts and a couple of Egg McMuffins and hash browns and milk…if you want more, I'll go out again. I called Roy a little while ago and there are still no leads. May and Tiffany have been very well hidden! That's what I'm going to work on today. Oh, and I got you some clothes. Jeans—black ones, because that's all they had in your size besides brown and some kinda fruity acid-washed ones, and a T-shirt and a sport jacket and shoes. I tried not to spend too much, OK? They're in the hall closet. I'll put the razor and stuff in the bathroom."

She bustled around, putting the rest of the cash on the nightstand with the rest of Bean's things and unpacking the drugstore bag.

"Huh. So where'd you sleep?"

"In the armchair. No problem!" Actually, her neck was still a little stiff. "How are you feeling? You got all four units into you, so you should be doing better now."

"OK, I guess." He threw the covers off and stood, then swayed and sat down again. "Ugh…"

"Oh, not a hundred percent yet? Do you need some help? More painkiller?"

Bean dodged her proffered arm and got up again more slowly, removing his sling so he could use both arms. "Nah." Rally watched him work his way along the walls, leaning on one hand. He disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door; she shrugged and finished unpacking the food. The toilet flushed and the shower went on. In a few minutes there came a loud, sliding _thunk_ and a curse from Bean. He muttered for a moment and fell silent.

"Bean? What was that?"

"Nothin'." His voice echoed oddly in the shower.

"OK." She didn't care for Mickey D's in the morning, but she had made the bed and nearly finished one pancake breakfast before beginning to wonder what was keeping him. He didn't take fifteen-minute showers!

"Bean?" she asked, rapping on the bathroom door. The water was still running. "Everything all right in there?"

"Shit…" she heard him say.

"Can I come in? Are you OK?"

"Goddammit…"

"I'm coming in, Bean." Rally opened the door part way; he was lying prone in the tub, naked and pale. "Oh, my goodness! Let me help you up!"

"Rrrr…"

"Did you hurt yourself?" Rally knelt down on the bath rug, turned off the shower and checked. Bean's browbone had a faucet-shaped blue bump. "Geez!" She fetched a cold cloth and put it on the fresh bruise. "It would be nice if you'd call me when you're having trouble! All you need is _more_ injuries! Why didn't you let me help you?"

"I can take a goddamn piss on my own, Vincent!"

"Sure you can!" Rally rolled her eyes. "And you can fall and klonk your head on your own, too! Here, can you climb out of the tub?"

Bean started to roll over, then stopped and curled his legs up. "Gimme a damn towel!"

"Huh? OK, here you go." When she handed him a bath towel, he hastily wrapped it around his hips. "What's the matter with _you_? It's not like I haven't seen it all before, you know!"

To her surprise, Bean flushed and moved away from her hands, crawling out of the tub and collapsing on the bath rug. "I just got dizzy. I'm OK."

"Um…well, let's put you back in bed." She tried to put an arm around his chest, but he flinched and grabbed the bathroom door, pulling himself half upright.

"I can walk!"

"Fine, you can walk. Only problem is, I can't catch you when you fall! Either you let me hold you up, or you can crawl the whole way!"

"Just give me those clothes! I'll do it myself!"

Rally stared at the back of his head for a moment. That wasn't just humiliation at his accident—it really was modesty. Was he actually feeling…vulnerable? As if she might grab him and molest him in his weakened state? "Oookaayy… whatever you say." She got the bags from the closet and unpacked them on the floor. "I hope the shoes fit. I think everything else will…here's the socks and underwear—"

"Fine. Get the hell out of here!" Bean seized the T-shirt and pulled it over his head.

"All right! Don't bust all your front teeth out on the sink while you're shaving!" Throwing up her hands, she walked out and closed the door. He didn't want her to see him naked? Almost an complete turnabout from how they had behaved in the motel in Buttonkettle! Rally sighed and got out her cell phone.

"Pete?"

"This is Agend Wesson."

"Oh! Hi. Um, sorry about your nose! Could I talk to Pete?"

"Where have you god him?"

"Hmm? Got who?"

"Bean Bandid, thad's who!" yelled Wesson. "You snuck him oud of the hospidal, you little slu—"

"Uh-uh. Watch the language there, Agent. Are you _accusing_ me of something?"

"Yes, I am!" he raged. "Thad man broke by nose! You knew damn well we were going to arresd him for—"

"Excuse me?" said Rally with dangerous sweetness. "Arrest him? Agent Smith made a formal promise not to do anything of the kind! Are you suggesting that he would break his word to me? Or that the FBI keeps promises only when convenient?"

"Uh…" No, he didn't want to admit he'd badgered Smith into it!

"Do you realize if I did something like that for Bean, he'd consider it a professional debt? That is not something I would do on a whim or out of pity. He would never have asked me for a favor of that kind. If I had _offered_ to help him, he would have turned me down anyway, and if you ask me, I thought he should have stayed, especially since Pete promised not to arrest him. Bean's departure from the hospital was not my idea. Got that straight?"

Wesson let out a breath through his teeth.

"Good," said Rally. "Take a message, OK? I have an idea about where the Dragons might be hiding May and Tiffany. Ask Pete if the FBI has any contacts in the Triad-owned bordellos. Those places are always equipped for prisoners, and the girls would be glad to take care of a child for a little while. Sound plausible?" Bean came out of the bathroom, dressed in black jeans, black T-shirt and running shoes, walking slowly.

"Yes, id does." Wesson let out another, softer breath; Rally could tell he was consciously ratcheting down his anger. "I'm sorry, Ms. Vincend. I losd by temper, and I apologize. Of course I have no evidence thad you helped Bandit escape. I shouldn'd have assumed thad you were his accomplice." Bean lurched against the wall and caught himself.

"All right; apology accepted." Rally allowed herself a tight smile as she went to Bean and supported him with her free arm. Wesson wasn't convinced, but she had changed his certainty to doubt. "I don't think you'll be seeing him again in any case. He's paid off his debt to me, and I suppose he'll be leaving for Chicago as soon as he can."

Bean met her eyes as she took him to the bed and sat him down. "I can tell you he'd rather accept anyone else's help than mine." She moved all the food to the nightstand. Bean put his feet up, ate two-thirds of an Egg McMuffin in a bite and took a swig of milk.

"I…understand. Pede should be in soon. I'll ged on the, um, bordellos. I"m afraid there are quite a few of them in the area."

"I see. Hope the nose is better, Agent." Bean raised a brow. "When should I plan to get to the Federal Building?"

"Whenever id's conveniend, and yes, the nose is bedder, thank you. Actually, I have something for you as well. A tape."

"From Larry Sam?"

"No, something else. Hard to explain over the phone, but there's no big rush—I'll play id to you when you come in. Mr. Sam is checking oud of UCSF this afdernoon, by the way."

"Oh, that's good news! Thank you. I think I'll visit on my way over." Rally put the phone away and looked at Bean. He had finished the muffins and the first carton of milk and now dug into the pancake breakfast on his lap with a plastic fork. "You look hungry, all right! Are you going to want more than that?"

"Maybe," said Bean with his mouth full and a cake of hash browns in one hand. "That was Wesson?"

"Yeah. Sounds like he's figured out who helped you—apparently Roy didn't tell anyone, but Wesson isn't stupid. He's not dead certain, but he'll be looking for better evidence so he can hang me. I think Pete knows too, but he doesn't really care. He has bigger fish to fry."

Bean looked up. "I better get out've here quick, then. Small fish or not." He gave a wry smile and bit off a chunk of hash browns.

"Better not risk leaving in broad daylight! Even if Wesson manages to persuade Pete to put a stakeout on the hotel, _if_ it occurs to him you spent the night in my room, they won't serve a warrant on me or anything. Stay put until nightfall and you'll be safe."

"Mm," grunted Bean, his eyes leaving hers.

"Clothes fit all right?"

"Yeah." He raised one knee to stabilize his breakfast. Rally admitted to herself that she had chosen the clothes with an eye to appearance as well as expense. In solid black, Bean looked even longer and slimmer, his face standing out by contrast, framed with his undisciplined hair like raven's wings. His shoulders spanned an easy half of the queen-size headboard.

"Still dizzy?" She felt a little dizzy herself. God, even pale and bruised, he was magnificent…

"Eh. Little bit."

"OK, then. Stay here until dark—consider it part of the health care package." Rally looked for the hotel TV schedule and put it on the nightstand next to him. "You'll feel better by then anyway. All right?"

Bean made a slight grimace, his lips compressing and brows going down. "All right." He finished the last few bites of pancake and drank the other carton of milk in one gulp, then put the containers aside and sat back with a sigh. Again his eyes sought her face. His look was guarded and sharp, as if he meant to gauge her intentions. Rally smiled back in a manner she hoped was matter-of-fact. Bean's eyes narrowed.

A little startled, she dropped her gaze for a moment, then slowly looked up again under her lashes. She grew aware that her lips were parted and that she had just licked them with a lingering tongue-tip, her fingers hovering around the scoop of her neckline.

Bean rolled his gaze away and ground his teeth. Rally gulped. She was looking at him like a cat salivating in front of a meat counter! He flushed again, a hand rubbing over his mouth.

For a moment, she let her imagination wander—Bean wasn't well, but he was getting better, and if she persuaded him to lie down and rest, she might give him a back rub for his sore muscles or something similarly stereotypically seductive, and perhaps he would turn his face and kiss her…then he might let her unbutton his jeans and stroke—

Rally slammed the thought shut. So he'd come back from death's door in a way that seemed to be just for her! She didn't have the right to impose something on him that he didn't want. Looking back at Bean, she tried to catch his eye again to apologize.

And nearly gasped; he had squeezed his eyes shut and was breathing hard, his fists clenched and slightly shaking. Something he didn't _want_? Something he wanted so much that he feared he was going to impose it on _her_! While he was barely able to stand! Rally whirled around to hide her own expression.

"Um…I th-think I'm going to go visit Larry Sam," she stammered, gathering up the fast-food containers and putting them in the wastebasket. "Apparently he's getting out of the hospital today. I don't know if he'll have any possible leads on May and Tiffany…"

Bean was silent for a moment. "You think they're in a Dragon cathouse?"

"Just a guess. It will have to get narrowed down a lot before anyone can take action on it. I'm really worried about them, even though Pete thinks they'll be kept alive. God knows what might happen. Besides, I'm…going to go nuts if I don't have some work to do."

"Yeah," said Bean with feeling.

"So, uh, I'll be back within a couple of hours with something for lunch before I go to the Federal Building. Is there anything you want before I go?"

"Yeah..." She could almost see his rueful smile. "…But it ain't important."

"Still hungry?"

"…Nah." He slowly rolled over and eased himself down on the spread.

"OK, if you say so." Rally fetched her purse and turned in the entryway. "I'll put up the Do Not Disturb sign so everyone will leave you alone. Try to get some rest, huh? And…please, Bean…"

"Huh?" He looked up from the TV schedule.

"Don't run off while I'm gone, huh? I'm going to…worry…if you do."

Bean didn't immediately reply, but as she closed the door, she thought she heard him mutter, "She's gonna worry about what might happen if I get OUT of her room…?"

* * *

"I will be supervising the Paradise tonight," said Madame Lum with a yawn. She looked into the open cell and smirked when May smiled and curtsied to her. "So the scheduling will be up to you, Pai Li. I have instructed that Anastasia be sent to the house in Burlingame. That will leave you somewhat short-handed, I fear."

"Um, yes, ma'am,' Pai Li replied. "Sunday evening has been picking up lately. Um, ma'am, Anastasia has a lot of debts and she won't earn even half as much in tips at the Green River—"

"Then she had better learn the virtues of obedience and hard work," snapped Madame Lum. She settled her heavy brocade dressing gown around her ample hips. "I will have no shirkers in this establishment! Only the best girls will ever make the grade here." Again she glanced at May. "How much did you say she earned in Chicago?"

"Well, you'd have to adjust for inflation and regional rate differences—"

"A great deal, at any rate. Very well. You may give her a trial tonight. Keep a close watch on her, however. 426 will not be pleased if she escapes."

"Four…426?" repeated Pai Li, going a little pale. "426 sent her here?"

"Yes, he did. That child is the daughter of Sylvester Brown, and May is the partner of a bounty hunter who was in pursuit of him."

"Mr. Brown? She doesn't look much like him! Well, I suppose her hair is kind of like his." Pai Li considered Tiffany's looks.

"No, she takes after her mother, I suppose. Of course, Brown's face was not entirely his own!" Madame Lum chortled and switched to English. "May, come here."

"Yes, ma'am!" May bounced up to the door and curtsied again.

"I am willing to let you out of this cell, on one condition."

"Anything, Madame Lum! I won't try to escape, I promise."

"Certainly you will not. You know the consequences to the child if you do?"

May's eyes narrowed. "Yes. He said so."

"I'm not speaking about 426's revenge, my dear. You must realize…I have a great deal of demand for all varieties of gratification in this establishment and many others under my jurisdiction. My condition for your having the run of the house is that you work for your keep and the child's. You understand me? If you escape, the child will have to work for her own keep."

"I…I understand, ma'am."

"You will be on provisional duty tonight. A backup in case of heavy demand. If Pai Li brings you a customer, you will service him. Some of your admirers from Chicago are in town, I believe—I will have to inform them you are available if this trial goes well. What is your answer? I do hope you are a sensible girl."

May looked a little pale, but answered steadily. "I'll work, ma'am."

"Good!" Suddenly Madame Lum was all smiles and pats and cheek-pinching. "I thought so. A consummate professional never truly retires. That belly of yours is something of an impediment, of course."

"Ah…I'm something of a specialist in the oral arts, ma'am."

"Of course you are. Well, earn enough that way, and we will not have to take any corrective measures."

"W-what?"

"You are about five months along? I have the option of sending you to the doctor for another month at least. But I do truly hope that won't be necessary."

May was shaking all over, going white and red, her arms tightly wrapping her round stomach. "It won't be, ma'am."

"And I can count on you to earn this little girl's room and board as well? Excellent. I am very pleased." She turned to Pai Li. "Allow them out. I commend your suggestion." Madame Lum swept down the corridor and up the stairs in a cloud of strong scent.

"OK, May, you are out of jail!" said Pai Li happily. "So come to the lounge! Bring the kid too! Oh, everybody's going to be fussing over her!"

"Because they don't have any children of their own…" murmured May.

"Of course not! We have our own doctor, you know. Oh, don't look like that! She's not going to make you get rid of it unless you do something really stupid! I know you're not stupid!"

"Sometimes I wonder about that," said May. She led Tiffany out of the cell, the child clutching her teddy bear. "Hey, sweetie. There are lots of ladies who live here! They really want to meet you, so come along!" Tiffany took Pai Li's hand and smiled up at her.

May hung back slightly as they went up the stairs, her hands going to her pregnant belly again. "Oh, Kenny. I'm really sorry about this. I know you'll understand that I had to do it…but am I ever going to be able to forgive myself?" A tear ran down her nose. "This is for you, Junior. Mama's going to keep you safe no matter what, and she's got to keep Tiffany safe too. She's only a baby like you…"

* * *

"Larry…would you have any idea why 426 might like to kill children? In preference to adults?"

Larry Sam looked up from his acupuncture treatment with a grimace. "That's true, he has killed a number of children. Mostly to extort money from their parents. But a preference?"

"I heard it from someone who said it was street talk. That he might get off on killing children."

"No…I don't think so." Larry shook his head; he looked nearly normal, his face having regained its ordinary tan color and the black eye having faded. The drain tubes in his wounds were gone; only the taped surgical incisions remained, and they were no longer inflamed. "That's not something that would turn him on in a sexual sense. He likes young men, and young men only."

"OK. You are definitely the expert here."

He rolled his eyes. "I suppose I am. To my regret. But no, although he certainly enjoys killing, he likes it best when the subject takes a long time to die. That tends to translate to strong men." The healer began to take the needles out of his chest.

"Wow. You know, he talked about doing that to Bean. Nearly did kill him, though not slowly!"

"What? I heard Bean was dead!" Larry sat up and pulled on his white pajama shirt, then the armored vest the FBI had issued him. "I was waiting for you to tell me so I could—um—I wondered why you hadn't said anything! He's _alive_?"

"Yes. How do you know he was injured?"

"I wanted to be kept posted on the rescue operation last night. Pete Smith told me Bean had died, but he didn't call back after that. What happened?"

"Well, he was clinically dead for a while. It was a little strange…I sat with him for twenty minutes and he never took a breath. He was so cold…" Rally shut her eyes for a moment, remembering her grief and regret over Bean's body. She was beginning to have a horror of hospital rooms.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. Then I, um, touched him, and he…revived. The last I saw him, he was doing all right, though not on his feet yet."

To her surprise, Larry shuddered. "Brrr."

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing. Superstitious, I guess."

Rally blinked. "What's scary about him _not_ being dead?"

"_Guang Si,"_ said Larry half to himself. He rose from his bed and put on a dressing gown, although the room wasn't cold. The healer chattered at him in Cantonese and he replied.

"I don't speak Chinese, Larry. May's the one for that."

"That's what they're called. There's no English for it, because it's not like European folk tales." He shrugged dismissively. "Superstition, as I said. Bedtime ghost stories. Want to go out into the garden on the terrace? I could use a short stroll. Not up to a marathon yet."

"Sure." Rally followed Larry out the door, past the four FBI agents guarding his room.

"Hey, Sam," called one. "You want an escort?"

"No, thanks," Larry replied, winking. "I have all the protection I need." A couple of agents laughed and looked significantly at Rally. She and Larry walked through the waiting area and out through a sliding glass door to a large, sunny outdoor raised terrace shaded with small trees and ringed with planter boxes and round metal tables.

A staircase ran down to the ground-floor courtyard on one side and a wheelchair ramp on the other. Larry didn't move quickly and had to take her arm, but seemed reasonably vigorous for having been shot through the chest six days before. A few patients and visitors sat at the tables or walked between the planters. Larry took a deep breath and looked at the sky with a smile. "Sometimes it is enough just to be alive."

"Yes," said Rally, knowing what he meant.

"I got a little too close to death for such a nice guy." He turned to her, his handsome face sobering slightly. "I'm glad you came to see me. We've never been truly alone together before, you know that?"

"Oh…really?"

Larry pressed her hand as a man in a wheelchair creaked slowly by. "It's wonderful just to look at your face, Rally. When I was shot, I remember lying there bleeding and wondering if I ever would see you again. Vanessa told me that you asked about me, and I swear that was what pulled me through." He took a deep breath and looked at the hand he held. "Rally, this is going to sound—"

"Aw, shite—" The man in the wheelchair had hung up on the corner of a planter and swore quietly, rolling back and forth slightly to dislodge his stuck wheel.

Rally took a glance at him; he had only one leg, the left one amputated above the knee, and was supported in a kind of sling that buckled around his waist and thighs instead of a standard seat. A hooded sweatshirt covered his head and large surgical dressings hid his nose and cheeks. Poor man—he'd been in some terrible accident!

"'Scuse me, Larry. I think that guy needs help." She started to move toward him, but Larry turned and walked over.

"Sir? May I be of assistance?" The man let out a short bark of a laugh and made a gesture of assent. Larry took the wheelchair's handles and lifted it to a new heading. The man rolled over to the terrace railing and looked down into the courtyard. Larry returned to her, obviously annoyed that their conversation had been interrupted, and Rally quickly chose a new tack, not wanting to get back on the same subject.

"Is 426 superstitious?"

"Why?"

"Well…ghosts, I guess. I'm interested. Tell me about this."

He made a slight face. "All right, if you want, but I'm not sure how it's relevant."

"I don't know yet. Humor me, Mr. Encyclopedia!"

"Oh, boy. Bean called me something like that, didn't he?"

"Uh…I guess so."

"Chinese aren't only interested in books! You know, I'm a distance runner and a windsurfer? I even have girlfriends, believe it or not!" He seemed upset, but quickly tamped it down. "Sorry. I don't think you mean to stereotype me."

"I can believe you have lots of girlfriends, Larry. I'm sorry."

Larry smiled, a little oddly. "So Bean's alive and well."

"Yes…"

"Well, it would be ungracious of me to say more on that subject…" He walked over to a planter box by the wall and sat down. "You want to know about Chinese folk beliefs on ghosts? As well as what I've been telling you about the Triad vice businesses? It's a grab bag of subjects today."

"Yes. What does 'Guang Si' mean?"

"The way you just pronounced it, nothing at all." He laughed. "But it means a reanimated corpse. Someone who died, but is now up and about."

"Oh, like a zombie?"

"Something like that. But the idea of a Guang Si is more variable. Sometimes, it's a person who died away from home and who needs to get back for a proper burial in his ancestral village. A traditional Chinese can't rest without that. A Taoist priest would raise him with a spell, shepherd him home, and then he could have his funeral."

"That doesn't sound like a monster or anything."

"No. But a Guang Si can also be someone who died violently, with unfulfilled purposes and a lot of sins on his conscience. Carrying bad karma. He descends into hell and sees all its horrors and is transformed into a demon by dreadful tortures. Then his spirit comes back and re-inhabits his body…and carries out his purposes."

It was Rally's turn to shudder. "My God."

"Look, it's not like I believe this stuff!" Larry threw up his hands. "About as much as you believe in Count Dracula or the Mummy's Curse!"

"OK, yeah, but I can see why what happened to Bean would make you shiver! I mean, I know he's not a demon, for heaven's sake, but it fits a little too well. He's thousands of miles from home, and as for carrying bad karma, well, the less said about what Bean carries, the better. 426 gave him some terrible wounds and kept him from carrying out the operation—Bean tried really hard to save Tiffany Brown, and he failed. If he had really died, he'd look like a good candidate for this curse or whatever it is."

"426 is the one who killed Bean? Almost killed him?"

"Oh, yes. None of the other Dragons could touch him. 426 could have taken all of us out by himself, if he hadn't been more concerned about getting away with the hostages. It was amazing, if it hadn't been so scary. How does he do that? I couldn't hit him with a sniper rifle from twenty feet!"

"Yes, he's an incredible fighter. He trains every day and he was taught by a famous master. Some people say he does it by magic."

"Huh?"

"Something called Hac Tao—Black Taoism. Necromancy and poisons and so on. It bears a relationship to mainstream Taoism, in a sense, as Satanism does to Christianity. As I say, I don't believe it for a second. If I sound like I do, it's just one of those cultural memory things. No one can help feeling the resonances of some deep-rooted superstitions."

"Yeah, I can recall a few moments when I actually thought I was feeling ghosts around me!" But Brown hadn't even been dead, and Huang wasn't her victim, so it had been nothing but her imagination. "Poisons, huh? I think 426 had some strange mixture on his throwing stars—the hospital couldn't figure it out right away. Does he hold traditional beliefs or really practice this Black Tao? I heard him say something about Brown being haunted by his family's ghosts."

"I honestly don't know about the black magic. It's not the kind of thing he would tell people about, even me! The rumors would help his reputation in any case. But he is pretty traditional in many ways—I think I mentioned he's a true believer in Confucian social hierarchy. Since you ask, I think it's possible he believes in ghosts and Guang Si. Even an ordinary ghost—a _gui_—can be very bad for a person who killed him."

"How so?"

"The gui is hungry, if he was murdered or died before his time. He will be restless and angry. But he can be propitiated and exorcised—it's something every traditional Chinese family does for their ghosts no matter how they died. We send candles out on the water in little boats and burn incense and fake paper money and so on."

"Ceremonies and things? And for an enemy, rather than a family member, it would be even more important?"

"Yes." Larry's face changed. "A child's ghost…doesn't need a lot of ceremony. A child's ghost doesn't have a weight of karma on it, and passes easily to the next life. It won't haunt its murderer. Not like an adult…"

"I think you may have got it, Larry."

"I think I may have. God."

"I'm sorry to bring these things up." Rally put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's OK. I've been talking to the FBI about him anyway." Larry put his hand over hers. "Lin Shaoqi is only a man, not a demon. Speaking his name doesn't summon him."

"Lin Shaoqi? Pete Smith told me that name. How do you pronounce it?"

"Not like that," said Larry with a smile. "You just called him a fishing boat."

"Oops. OK, what was wrong about it?"

"Well, let's start with a discussion of tonal sounds…" Larry went off into linguistics for a few minutes and Rally began to glaze over slightly. She repeated the name a couple of dozen times until Larry was nearly satisfied with her pronounciation. "You have to kind of scoop that syllable. Start high, go lower, and up again. Then the next is rising tone, which sounds like you're asking a question. Once more, and…"

"I see you are getting tired, Larry. Here goes. _Lin Shaoqi."_

"Good! Not bad at all. Yes, I'm ready for lunch. Want to go in?"

Rally consulted her watch. "I should leave soon—it's getting late." If she stayed much longer, Bean would wonder what was up…assuming he was still in the room. "Thanks for filling me in on the vice establishments—I'll relay your info to Smith and Wesson. I'll walk you back to your room. Is your family coming to help you?"

"Yes, Mom is supposed to be here with Vanessa and the kids right after lunch. You can't stay?"

"Nope, sorry. I have places to go." They got up and moved across the open area, walking towards the sliding glass door. As they passed a clump of small trees in a planter, the man in the wheelchair rolled back from the railing, where he had sat since arriving, and deftly spun around. Something about the quality of the movement caught Rally's attention, and she touched Larry's arm.

"What?"

"Get away from me. Over there, behind the tables. NOW!" she shouted, for the man had reached into the saddlebag that hung over the back of the wheelchair. Rally drew her CZ75 and leveled it at him, expecting him to release the harness and spring from the chair with two intact legs. Instead, he brought out a .45, braced it in both hands, and fired.

Rally's shot went off almost simultaneously. The man's shot zipped past her and struck Larry's upper chest, his armored vest taking the bullet. Larry staggered and fell to the ground. Rally's shot hit the attacker dead center and he grunted. Bullet-resistant vest too, of course!

Larry scrambled on hands and knees for one of the metal tables, knocking it over and making a shield of it. Again two shots went off almost simultaneously, one whizzing past Rally's head close enough to feel the breeze, one hitting the attacker's lower torso.

"Oof!" he grunted, grabbing his stomach. The wheelchair rolled slightly backward with the recoil of the .45 and the impact of the nine-millimeter Parabellum. Rally dove behind the table with Larry. Patients and staff were running and screaming in every direction. SPANNGG! A .45 hit the metal table and caromed off. Who was the attacker? It must be O'Toole. He was unrecognizable under the facial bandages, but if his injuries were real, they would accord with the motorcycle crash!

"He just does NOT give up, does he?" muttered Rally, aiming for his head. KRAK! O'Toole spun the chair and evaded the bullet. "Oooh! I wish I had my ten-gauge! That would fix him!" They exchanged fire again. The .45, hitting square, penetrated the table and chipped the concrete between her and Larry.

Larry gritted his teeth in pain, still gasping from the impact of the .45, but didn't panic; he glanced at her for a moment, conveying his confidence in her ability. Apparently he was getting used to gunfire by now! Rally smiled back and fired at O'Toole. This time she caught his good knee and he yelled, squeezing off shots.

The table sprang another hole and the other slugs whined away after hitting the edges. Nine-millimeters answered, striking the chair and O'Toole's left arm and hand.

"AAGGHH!" he screamed, rolling towards them as the four FBI agents burst through the sliding glass door, service automatics in hand. "Yeh nigger bitch!"

"There he is! The amputee in the chair!" yelled Rally to the agents. "That's O'Toole!" Two of them aimed and fired; the other two ran to block the wheelchair ramp down to the courtyard. O'Toole did a quick reverse and spin, his bloody hands yanking at the wheels. He was heading for the stairway instead!

O'Toole leaned far back and launched, grabbing the central rail with one hand and yelling in pain as the chair jolted and slid down the steps, but didn't overturn. The agents at the ramp sprinted to catch him as he reached the bottom and sped off.

Rally left Larry and ran to the railing, aiming at O'Toole. But the courtyard was filling with staff on lunch break, and she could not get a safe shot. People yelled and lost their cafeteria trays as he raced by in the wheelchair, slipping through an open door and into the ground floor of the hospital. "Damn!" She pointed out the door to the agents, who slid down the stairs in pursuit. Rally returned to the overturned table. "Larry! Are you OK?"

"Yeah…fine…" he got out, smiling at her as one of the agents supported him. "Just a bruise on the breastbone. Thank you again."

"You're very welcome. He was going for both of us this time. Two birds with one stone!" Obviously the Dragons had sent him, since he had shot at Larry first.

"Uh-huh. 426 wants me dead. He won't stop until he's dead himself."

"Oh, Larry…" Rally hugged him and he put a hand on her head, pressing his face to hers. "I'm so sorry about this!"

"Don't be." He looked into her eyes, his clear brown irises lit with an emotion that made her blush and lower her gaze. "You're amazing. If all this hadn't happened, I would never have met you."

"Oh…uh…"

"Give us more of a description here, Ms. Vincent," said an agent with a walkie-talkie. "They've lost him inside!"

"Not like a guy in a wheelchair stands out in a hospital! OK, he's short and muscular and has red-brown hair and yellow-green eyes. Broken jaw, old bullet hole in right wrist, left leg off above the knee and it looked like a broken pelvis…man, there is not going to be anything left of him in another week if he keeps this up! I shot him in the right knee and the left arm and hand, but it wasn't bothering him much. He must be up to the eyes in painkillers in order even to move."

"All right, got it." The agent spoke into his radio. "We'll find him!"

But no one could find O'Toole, who had apparently gone out a side entrance and been picked up by a vehicle, and eventually the search was called off. Rally greeted all the Sams when they arrived and sat with Larry for a while, then looked at her watch. She was very late for lunch! What would Bean do? Decide to leave? She couldn't call the room; he wouldn't pick up the phone. Suddenly her own cell phone rang.

"Rally Vincent here."

"Hey," said Bean's voice.

"Oh! Just a sec—" Rally bowed her way out of Larry's room and put the phone to her ear again. "I'm just heading out of the hospital—something happened to delay me. You're never going to believe who I just saw!"

"College boy, I gather."

"Um…well, yes, but I mean O'Toole."

"Him? What, in a morgue drawer?"

"No, he's alive! A real mess, one leg gone and confined to a wheelchair, but he can still shoot! He tried for me and Larry and he got away. Larry got shot, but he was wearing his vest, so he's OK, and I wasn't hit."

"No shit."

"Well, I'll be back in a few minutes with lunch! Are you doing all right? Any more dizziness? Are you drinking a lot of water?" She got in the elevator to the garage.

Bean let out a sigh. "I'm still here. Watching the tube and bored out've my skull. Did some calling for ya. I was gonna tell you something I found out."

"Oh! What is it?"

"At least one local Triad got a call from a madam or something. Your partner's open for business, they say."

"Huh?"

"They got her in a cathouse, and she's up for sale. Guess she's got quite a rep in the trade and they decided to make some dough off her. I couldn't find out which one she's in."

"Oh, my God!" Rally's mouth dropped open. "May!"

"Yeah."

"Jesus! This is terrible! I was worried before, but…God!" Rally opened the door of her Cobra and sat down hard in the driver's seat, hand over her face. "Thank you, Bean. How much did you pay for that information? I'll reimburse you."

"Nah. I'll swallow it."

"But, Bean—"

"Yer takin' a hell of a risk keeping me here, you know? Ol' Coleman was knocking on the door about a half hour ago. Didn't go away for a while. I thought for a minute he was gonna jimmy the lock. Lucky for him he didn't."

"Uh-oh."

"Don't think he's going to let it pass twice, lady. He might just go ahead and arrest you and me both if he can manage. So I'll pay my rent while I'm here, got it? See ya." He clicked off.

* * *

Rally unpacked foil pans of Armadillo Willy's barbecue from a cardboard box. "I got three dozen baby back ribs, OK? And lots of cornbread and stuff. That sound good?"

"Sure." Bean picked up a pan and ripped the lid off. "Man, I'm starving."

"How are you now? Tell me the truth. Any more dizziness?"

"Nope." He sat and tucked in, bones crunching and squeaking between his teeth.

"Good! Well, I'm going to run off to the Federal Building in a few minutes—they'll want to hear about O'Toole and everything, and Larry gave me a lot of interesting information. Like, 426 may be afraid of ghosts. And of course I have to tell them what you told me—I won't say where it's from."

Bean grunted.

"Oh, I was going to get May's stuff from her room and keep it here—back in a sec." Rally went to the door, checked the hallway, and walked three doors down to May's single. Her suitcase had not been unpacked and her photos lay on the table. Rally picked everything up and took it back to her room, checking the hallway again. If Roy had been investigating earlier, he was nowhere to be seen now. Rally put the suitcase in the closet and took the photos to the table where Bean ate.

"What's that?" he asked.

"May's vacation shots." Rally stacked them up and picked out an envelope. "All Disneyland and things like that." She extracted a picture of May and herself, taken with the timer, and examined it for a few minutes. "Oh, honey…" Rally murmured. "I hope you and Junior are OK…" Her eyes began to well up and she blew her nose on a paper napkin.

Bean finished a rack of ribs and ate two large chunks of cornbread. "Missing the squirt?" he said quietly.

"Uh-huh." Rally bowed her head. "We'll find her. I know it."

"Sure."

"I guess I should eat something…I'll feel better." She took three ribs and some coleslaw. Bean glanced at the pile of photos, wiped his fingers and began to look through them. "Be my guest. It's all me and May and roller coasters! Might stave off boredom for two or three minutes!"

Bean raised a brow and she saw that he was looking at the shot of May with Mickey and Goofy. "She liked that one! Said she'd give an enlargement to Ken! Silly, huh?" Rally laughed to cover up sniffles.

"Huh. She takes some good pics." Bean picked up another one and studied it, his face changing.

"You interested in photography?"

He shrugged with a half smile and put the pictures down, slipping the one he had been looking at under the stack, then rose to get himself a glass of water. Rally picked up the stack to put them in order again, knowing May preferred them that way, and discovered that the one he had been holding was of her, her windblown hair stroking her face as she smiled and tried to brush it back. May had liked it too.

A twinge went through her and as Bean returned from the bathroom she put the picture back where he had left it. As the room was growing warm, he opened the sliding doors to the balcony, sat down again and resumed eating.

A light breeze blew through the curtains, stirring them aside. It lifted her napkin, carrying it to the other side of the table. When she lunged to retrieve it, Bean simultaneously reached for the barbecue sauce and their faces nearly touched. Rally lost her footing and slipped, catching herself with a hand on the table. Bean sat back with his ears red and looked away, jaw working.

"I…I think I'd better go now," said Rally, leaving her half-eaten meal and looking for her purse. Bean stood as well, his body blocking her path to the door for a moment. Rally could smell him, warm and masculine and smoky.

She looked into his face. His eyes were on her lips, his mouth twitching slightly, and for a moment Rally was positive he was going to lean down and kiss her. All that she could predict of her own response was that she was unlikely to stop him, no matter how far he wanted to go; her body already curved toward his of its own accord and her lashes veiled her eyes. She wet her lips.

"'Scuse me," said Bean, and moved past her to the balcony door to shut it again. The glass slid into place and the room was silent. Rally turned to the entryway to leave, and Bean's hands took her shoulders from behind. She twisted around into his arms.

His mouth burned against hers, both of them moaning. Rally joined her hands in Bean's hair and pressed her breasts into his chest, Bean cupping her bottom in one hand and cradling her head in the other. He didn't feel weak or shaky in the least.

He released her, stepped back and breathed hard. "Sorry." Chagrin and self-reproach contorted his face. "Shouldn't've done that. Sorry."

"My fault too," said Rally, and fled the room.

In the hall she stopped to catch her breath, cheeks flaming. If she came back in the evening and he was still here, nothing would stop them; she might strip and pull him down on the bed with her the moment she arrived. They couldn't do this for all kinds of reasons, but she couldn't think of any of them at that moment.

"Rally," said someone, and she turned to see Roy emerge from his room. "I see you've come out again fairly quickly, so he must be doing all right." His voice was brittle and sardonic; her cheeks flamed hotter. "At the very least, his appetite's back—that certainly was a big order of barbecue you brought. Is that all he's hungry for?"

"You've been watching?"

"You think I wouldn't?"

"He'll be gone by tonight, Roy. He'll leave when it's dark."

"Let me put it this way, girl. Agent Smith promised not to arrest him for twenty-four hours after the operation terminated last night. I understand he was prepared to break that promise because Bean assaulted his partner. I'll keep it for him, for your sake. But only that long. If I see that man—anywhere—after ten tonight, I will call 911."

"That's fair."

"I'm glad you think so, Rally. You've been a whole hell of a lot less than fair to me."

"Roy…"

"I'll go with you to the Federal Building. Let's take your car."

"All right." He took her arm and they walked to the elevator.

* * *

"You're old enough to make your own decisions. You don't have to do what I tell you, for God's sake. This is _your_ business. But please, let me say something. Before you make what could be the biggest mistake of your life."

"I'm not going to go criminal just to hang out with Bean Bandit, Roy. Do you really think I would?"

"No…no, I don't. But what has been going on for the last week has got me very, very worried about you. I can't decide if you deliberately told me untruths about your relationship with Bean, or if you honestly didn't know the score. When I learned you had made love with him…" He turned his head away and looked through the passenger window.

"You thought I'd lied to you."

"Why didn't you tell me?" said Roy, quietly. "What did you think I was going to do if I knew?"

"Oh, Roy… I didn't want you to think…exactly what you and May ended up thinking. And…I was afraid you'd be disappointed with me. The way you are now. Obviously keeping so much to myself didn't end up accomplishing a thing." She pulled into the Federal Building's garage and looked for a space.

"Kid…you're remembering what I said about how you should be careful around him? Had you already made love with him then?"

"No. We'd done some heavy petting, that's all." Rally sighed. "I'm not going to marry him, Roy. I'm not even going to be his girlfriend—I promise you that. It wouldn't be safe for either of us in Chicago if we were known to be attached. We just…well, now that I think about it in hindsight, we've always had a major case of…sexual attraction. No more than that. We have nothing in common otherwise."

"Only your entire way of life, girl!" Roy looked incredulous. "That's the reason I was afraid for you! He's…the perfect counterpart to your professional specialty. It seemed so obvious. Like two puzzle pieces about to fall into place and complete a picture. And you just told me you two have the serious hots for each other! Are you honestly saying Bean's not compatible with you?"

He stopped. "I sound like I'm trying to sell him to you here. Of course I'm not. I'm just trying to make you see what's plain as day to everyone else around you. Nearly everyone. If you don't recognize what's going on, there's nothing you can do to fight it!"

Rally looked at the dashboard as she parked. Yes, everyone who had seen them together over the last week came to the same conclusion, though with entirely different reactions. Larry Sam, Sly Brown, Roy, May, Pete Smith. "I'm not going to do something based on what everyone _else_ thinks about my relationship with Bean. As you just said, I'm old enough to make my own decisions. I know how I feel. He is only a friend, Roy, and that is the truth." So far, it was the truth. After tonight…

Roy sprang from the car, his face contorting. "Rally...I saw the composite drawing you helped them with. I...I...he looks like that to you?"

"Why?"

"Holy Mother of God, girl!" Roy jammed a thumb on the elevator button. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I know you better than Smith and Wesson do. They didn't see anything odd about it—what about the artist? What'd he say?"

"It was a woman who did the drawing."

"Oh, no kidding..." The doors opened and they went inside. "What did you tell her about him? Is she ready to chuck it all and run off with the dashing Roadbuster? If the bastard was really that good-looking—"

"Is that what you think I'm going to do, Roy?"

"Christ, I don't know. I mean, when the Dragons caught you, here he comes back to save the day, and from what Agent Wojohowicz told me, he had no concern for his own safety when that kid was in danger. I accused him of...well, you know." Roy's face flushed.

"I honestly thought I was right, and I'd have shot him to demonstrate my sense of holy outrage. I would have killed him if I could have persuaded God to let me try, and I couldn't have been more wrong." His head drooped. "I'm a little shaken up, you know? I'm not at all sure of my own judgment right now. I don't know if I can tell right from wrong any more."

"Of course you can, Roy." Rally patted him softly on the shoulder as the doors opened. "You're the rightest guy I know."

"Thanks, kid." He put his hand on hers. "Uh...they have something to show you. Wesson's office. They want you to listen to a tape." They stopped at the break room door. "I need a cup of coffee…and a crate of whiskey."

"Yes, Wesson mentioned a tape. Do you know what that's about?"

"No, it's something of theirs...I don't know what it is. It's for your ears only, apparently."

"All right," she said, puzzled. She put her hand on Roy's shoulder again and walked down the hall. The radio in the break room hummed softly.

…_And that boy's just a walkaway Joe  
Born to be a leaver  
Tell you from the word go, destined to deceive her  
He's a wrong kinda paradise  
She's gonna know it in a matter of time  
That boy's just a walkaway Joe… _

* * *

To Rally's surprise, Wesson's manner was cordial and even friendly. Still speaking a little indistinctly through his broken nose, he smiled and offered her a cup of coffee and a doughnut. He attempted a joke about his highlighted hair that came close to not falling flat and complimented her initiative in chasing 426's car, apparently quoting Wojohowicz. He even made a point of telling her Smith had her SIG 551 in safekeeping.

Rally blinked and decided to take it at face value for now. Smith had seemed like a thoroughgoing jerk when she had first met him—he had his character flaws, to be sure, but she truly liked him now. Wesson was his partner. Might he also have some undisclosed good qualities? She recalled one other man she had disliked on sight and come to appreciate.

If Bean could harbor the passion and tenderness and heroism she had seen, couldn't Wesson simply be reserved and slow to warm up? Maybe. She told him everything she had heard from Bean and Larry Sam including the ghost stories, and he took careful notes.

"They're going to use her in one of their houses? Good God."

"That's the scuttlebutt. At least she's been a pro in the past, but I know she's loyal to her boyfriend, and if they do that to her… It occurs to me that Tiffany may be in danger of that as well."

"Those bastards." Wesson shook his head. "Thad could be 426's idea of revenge on Brown."

"Possibly. Where's Pete, by the way?"

"He's been in and oud today. We've been working straighd through since Monday withoud much sleep, so I think he's pretty tired." Wesson smiled sympathetically. "He's almosd at mandatory retiremend age, you know. He's been in the Bureau since 1972."

"I heard him mention Hoover once."

"Yes, thad was the lasd year of Hoover's tenure," said Wesson. "I'm afraid the Bureau will never live him down!"

"Which part? The secret files on everyone, or the evening gowns?"

Wesson laughed, though it sounded a bit forced. "This is 1999. Things have changed."

"Yeah, now it's just Waco and Ruby Ridge…"

"Er-hem."

"Sorry. Cheap shot. So to speak."

Wesson compressed his lips. No, that tight manner was a lot more than simple reserve…

"Well, in any case, we have a tape for you to listen to," said Wesson, attempting a smile. "I believe id will be of great interesd to you."

"OK. What is it?"

"Id's fairly self-explanatory, but id was made on Friday, two days ago. Led's go to the audio lab." They rose and walked down the hallway to a dim room full of sound equipment. "Here you go," said Wesson, entering a time marker on a large console and handing her a pair of headphones. "This is id. Ms. Vincent, I'd suggest you listen to this very carefully. For your information, id has nod been altered in any way. If you doubt ids authenticity, ask Detective Coleman. His is the other voice you hear on this tape."

"Other voice?" Rally put the headset on.

"The primary voice is thad of Bean Bandid. This is the conversation thad took place when he stopped your car as Coleman drove id on the decoy operation. The occasion on which I, Pete Smith, and two other agends failed to arresd him, and he inflicted serious injuries on us." Wesson touched his cheek slash, partly hidden under the splint on his broken nose.

"Oh?"

"Id'll become clearer as you listen. This took place jusd after Mr. Bandid threatened to throw Coleman into the Pacific Ocean. Thad's immaterial ad the moment. I wand you to hear whad Mr. Bandid says aboud you among other men. Keep in mind thad my partner and I were there, as well as Gonzales and Bui. This was in public, for all practical purposes."

"All right," said Rally, her fists clenching. "I'll listen."

There was a sizzling noise, then Bean's voice came in loud and clear. _"She wasn't just willing. She was crawling all over me and BEGGIN' me for it!"_

"_You lying bastard—"_ That was Roy, his voice furious but somehow uncertain.

"_Gospel truth, Coleman. She wanted it bad and I let her have what she wanted. I played it cool for a while and then I jumped her. She got down on her knees to pray and it took me only half a minute to baptize her tonsils. I spewed like a fountain, man, and she swallowed! She was afraid I'd shot my whole wad—not a chance, not with that randy lady pantin' for more! So I finger-fucked her and I ate her out—man, she's a sweet screamer—and then I rammed it so far up her juicy little pussy she was thinking she had a stuffy nose."_ Rally stiffened, outraged embarrassment coloring her cheeks. So this was what Bean had said to Roy! This was what had upset him so much!

Someone coughed and cleared his throat simultaneously, and someone else whistled low. _"Shut up..." _moaned Roy. "_If you've got any sense of honor..."_

"_Oh, yeah. But I ain't in love with her, AM I? What a hot little angel she is, and it was only her first time. A fuckin' heavenly lay, lemme tell ya. Great bod, gorgeous tits, and does she love cock!"_

"_Stop! Shut your vile mouth! How can you say this in front of them!"_

"_You oughta see her eyes light up when she gets a look at a—well, at mine, anyhow!" _Bean chuckled._ "No, she never let ol' Coleman into her drawers, did she? That what's really eating you?"_

"_SHUT UP! SHUT UP! That girl's like a daughter to me—!"_

"_Yeah, I knew a guy used to mess with his daughter."_ Bean laughed with a coarse snigger. _"Though he don't do it any more since I found out! Well, lucky for you, you ain't her dad, copper, but you ain't ever going to pick that sweet dark cherry, 'cause I got there first!"_

"Oh…my…GOD!" gasped Rally, jamming her hands to her contorted mouth, her eyes so wide open they stung. Wesson stood back with a suppressed smile.

"_KEEP YOUR FILTHY MOUTH OFF HER! HOW DARE YOU! I'm going to KILL YOU!"_

"_Why? 'Cause you know I'm tellin' the truth? I wasn't the one who started it, but I got to say I didn't mind gettin' the invite! She told me to fuck her good, and I fucked her real good! I worked it hard in that slick box—she's so nice an' tight I was seein' crosseyed, but I kept it going 'til she sang like a choir, and she was prayin' for more! I gave her all the cock she ever dreamed of gettin'! Took it on top, took it on the bottom, wrigglin' and humpin' all the way—"_

"_Yee-owza,"_ said a voice she recognized as Smith.

"Oh! Ohhh!" Rally moaned into her hands, trying to muffle her voice. She turned away from Wesson's malicious smirk, shaking. This was what Bean meant by 'so sweet'? The act she had believed had touched something deeper in him was nothing but a sleazy screw? This was how he thought of her? A mindless piece of ass who drooled over his bloated manhood? A horny little tramp whose virginity he gloated about stealing? Whom he had told Roy flat out that he didn't love?

The vicious, heartless, foul-mouthed, conceited son of a bitch! He was saying it just to drive Roy around the bend! Obviously he'd never realized that his words might someday have the same effect on her!

"_God damn you to hell..."_ Roy sobbed.

"_Oh, I was in fuckin' paradise. I thought my cock was gonna explode and my head along with it. Never got so blue-steel rigid in my life, I don't think, and that sweet lady drove me out've my fuckin' mind. And somewhere in the middle of it—"_

"Mmm, well, I have to apologize for my partner," murmured Wesson, stopping the tape. "You heard me in the background, and Agent Gonzales. Mr. Bandid wend on in this vein for a little while longer, and then he escaped arresd."

"Well," said Rally with boiling fury equally allotted to Bean and to Wesson, "how very interesting. Do you always get your jollies making women listen to things like that? Or do you breathe heavily into phones instead?" She ripped the headset off and threw it on the floor.

"Ms. Vincend, thad's uncalled for. This tape—" In the dim room, face half covered with the splint on his broken nose, he looked uncannily like Brown.

"I recall someone I recently met whose mind worked just about like yours, you _jerkoff_! God, the resemblance is a whole lot more than skin deep! OK, I'm mad at Bean for saying those things. But you are about ten TIMES worse than he is for REPEATING it to me! No WONDER Roy wouldn't tell me! And I swear, you think it's FUNNY, you scum—!"

"I would remind you, Ms. Vincend—"

"Of what? That I am beholden to the FBI? For not arresting me for a killing I didn't commit? For bringing in a better informant than Sylvester Brown would ever have made? For making me sell out a man who with all his faults can tell the truth a hell of a lot better than you can? I don't think BEAN would have concealed that ballistics report from his OWN PARTNER!"

Wesson was shaking with anger. "So thad IS whad happened to my copy! You're going to regred that, Ms. Vincend! I hear _your_ partner hauls around enough illegal explosives to throw her in the pen for a decade. We'll ged her back all righd, and then we can CHARGE her! Possession of destructive devices and theft of FBI property! How would you like thad little girl to end up—"

"You sure are fond of that riff, Bob," said a dry voice from the doorway. "I think Miss Rally here has a point."

Wesson turned around slowly, his face going stiff. Smith leaned against the doorjamb, flipping through a short document with photographs of magnified bullet striations. Light from the hallway streamed in behind him. "Very interesting report. Even more interesting that I had to call the lab to get a copy when you said you'd never seen it, and was told that you had put a gag order on it. I had to get the SAC's OK to overrule that order." Smith glanced up from the ballistics report, his steel-blue eyes resembling glacier ice. "What's the deal here, Bob?"

"I…I was going to talk it over with you." Wesson licked his dry lips. "We couldn'd just—"

"Let her off the hook? Yeah, you wanted to keep her pretty badly, didn't you, Bob? She was doing so well, you said. Cutting through the shit like a hot knife through butter, when we government bums spent a year and seven months swimming upstream. Couldn't lose that kind of talent. And you knew DAMN well I would have told her about this the moment I knew it. Which I just strolled down the hall to do."

Smith handed the report to Rally and walked forward. "By the way, Miss Rally, you have an FBI voice recorder in your car, under the dash. It's been there since Wednesday evening, because my _partner_ here didn't think you were trustworthy." He stopped in front of Wesson, face inches from his, and spoke as quietly as she had ever heard him. "Come with me, Bob. Now. The SAC said he wants to have a word." She watched, silent, as Smith and Wesson left the room.

* * *

"I am going to kill him, kill him, kill him…" Her voice trailed off into the darkness of her mind as the Cobra raced through the streets. "How could you talk to him like that? How could you say something so awful to Roy? HOW DARE YOU!" Tears were streaming down her face, her eyes stinging so much she could barely see to drive.

She parked crookedly in the hotel garage, not knowing what she was doing. She would call the police and let them arrest him, she would spit in his filthy face— Rally wiped her lips, remembering how Bean had kissed her an hour before. It was only three-thirty, the sun high, and he would be waiting for her until nightfall at least, thinking she wanted him again. She had wanted him again—oh, she had wanted him so much! Down the hall she ran, tears of pain and fury dripping from her chin. Unlocked the door, threw it open, burst through the entryway.

"Bean, you—" Rally broke off. The room was empty, the bathroom door stood open. He was gone.


	19. Chapter 19

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Nineteen**

"You lost, pretty mama? Maybe I give you some directions."

Rally looked up from the city map she had spread over her steering wheel and smiled coldly. "No."

"This ain't yo' neighborhood, mama," remarked the young man leaning on the hood of her Cobra. "You sure you ain't lost?" His friend, who stood directly in front of the car, smiled at another young man who approached from the right, emerging from the darkness of run-down apartment buildings into the glow of the streetlight she sat under.

They were converging from every point of the compass. Should she deal with it now or wait until there were half a dozen of them or more? Rally would have dearly loved to wait—her mood was evil enough for that—but deciding that discretion would serve her purposes better, she started the engine.

"Hey, mama. I be talkin' to you!"

"Off the car," replied Rally, giving a warning tap to the gas pedal.

"This piece o' shit?" He produced a knife, flipped it into a stabbing hold and drew a long scratch across the hood. "Gon' need some fucking bodywork, bitch. Who done bash this piece o' shit to hell?"

"Thank you so much," said Rally. "I really appreciate your mentioning that." Bean had been responsible for the damage to the Cobra, of course, and he hadn't even offered to pay for the repairs. She set the parking brake, unlocked her door and got out, leaving the engine running. "I mean that most sincerely."

"Crazy yaller bitch," said the young man in front of the car. "She gon' crazy."

"Fuu-uuck," happily said the man with the knife. "Crazy 'ho."

The third one reached the passenger side of the Cobra and stood with his hands in his pockets, grinning. "We got us a fine piece of ass here. Pretty yaller 'ho."

"For your information," said Rally with a sigh, "I'm Anglo/Pakistani, and I am no one's piece of ass." She drew, keeping the CZ75's muzzle slightly elevated, but flicking off the safety. "I have to admit that it will be a lot more fun if you don't run away."

"Fuck!" yelled the man with the knife, retreating a step. The man at the passenger side grabbed for a snub-nosed revolver at the back of his waistband. KRAK! Rally jumped, planting her right foot on her driver's seat to aim over the car and shot the revolver out of the man's hand. KRAK! The knife went flying next, and both men howled, wringing stung fingers.

"Are you going to run yet?" Rally inquired. All three took off with amazing alacrity, leaving their weapons where they had fallen. "Darn." She did feel a little better, however, and ostentatiously blew the smoke out of the CZ75's barrel before brandishing it at the darkness again. "Go ahead, punk—make my day!" No one answered the challenge. "Oh, well." Rally got back into the Cobra and pulled away from the curb.

She was indeed lost, however, and soon entered a dead-end street that came to an abrupt halt against a freeway soundwall. "Where the hell am I?" Getting out the map again, she steered with one hand and traced her path with another. Not many street signs remained legible under the spray-painted tags that ornamented nearly every vertical surface, so navigation was almost impossible.

The elusive freeway passed over her head. "There is such a thing as an on-ramp? They exist in some form wherever freeways are found? Or did I dream that in another life?" With no other recourse, she kept driving in as straight a line as she could. Another freeway, or possibly the same one, passed over her head again. "Geez."

She had picked up a tail. A 1977 Firebird of indeterminate color, the front passenger window duct-taped together. It had followed a hundred feet back for eight or nine blocks now, taking two turns with her. "Gosh, the inhabitants are so welcoming! I really feel at home!"

Rally slowed for a stop sign, the buildings now close-packed row houses, the streets heavily parked with vehicles similar to the one following her. The Firebird approached and pulled up to her left side, the passenger folding down the patchwork window.

"Hey! Hey, conchita! Nice car!" Rally gave the speaker, another young man, as hostile a look as she could, which considering her mood tonight was pretty darn hostile. "Lady! You lost or something?"

"Want to make something out of it?" she yelled back through the window. Truly, she hoped they did. Four young men in the car, all sporting bandannas and tattoos. Rally's hand crept towards the CZ75.

"Lady, this ain't a nice neighborhood! Take a left at the next light and you'll see the signs for 101, 'K?"

The Firebird pulled away, leaving Rally shocked and rather ashamed of herself. What was she doing? Looking for random trouble as if she were a gangbanger herself? Longing to hurt someone in order to alleviate her own heartache? She turned left at the next light and saw the signs for 101, got on the freeway and went back to the Federal Building.

* * *

"Where the hell'd you run off to?" Smith looked annoyed and red-faced. "I wanted to talk to you! I've been standing around with my thumb up my ass for hours! It ever occur to you that we've got a job to do?"

"I know."

Wojohowicz examined her with a touch of sternness. "Where have you been, Vincent? Coleman went to look for you and said you weren't at your hotel—did you know you left your door open? He locked everything up for you."

"Oh. OK." So Roy knew Bean was gone.

"Someone named Ken Watanabe has arrived at SFO, by the way," continued Wojohowicz. "Coleman's gone to pick him up. We understand he's an associate of yours?"

"Oh? OK." Ken must have heard about the situation from Roy; Rally hadn't even thought of contacting him. Watanabe was the alias Ken used around Roy, since Ken Takizawa was still known to the Chicago police as a Mob explosives expert. "He's May's boyfriend. Her baby's father."

"Though I have to admit there isn't much we could have accomplished in the office anyway," grumbled Smith, beckoning Rally and Wojohowicz into his office and pointing at chairs. "We've been trying to get some more on that lead you gave us about your partner being in a Triad brothel."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I sent Gonzales and Bui out on the scent. Bui grew up speaking Vietnamese and some Cantonese—he's posing as a john and he'll see what he can see. Gonzales is backing him up."

"Didn't Bean beat them up too?" said Rally distractedly. "I thought they were out on disability."

"They were, on Saturday. When they heard what they'd missed last night, they practically tore my head off." Smith grinned. "So I detailed 'em out on the tip when they insisted, and they'll do good. Good reliable agents."

"Have they reported back yet?" said Wojohowicz, checking her watch, which she wore over her pulse. "Weren't they supposed to radio by seven? It's 7:38 now."

"Must be on a hot tip. I'll give them until eight. If Miss Rally can waste four fucking hours God knows where, doing God knows what, I can let the guys who actually do the work around here take a little time and care with the job." Smith emphatically sat down.

"Has anyone else turned up something?" asked Rally, her cheeks reddening. "Something I could work on?"

"Nope," said Smith. "It's a little odd. If your informant could find out Miss May was on offer, you'd think a few more tidbits would have leaked by now."

"Could the Dragons have got wind of the search? Maybe they've clamped down on information."

"Maybe. I haven't come to any conclusions yet. But you could have been here to help! Where were you?" snarled Smith. Rally had the feeling that Wesson's misconduct had hit Smith hard; he kept looking around for the fourth element of the conversation and grimacing when he saw the empty chair. What was going to happen to Wesson for concealing the ballistics report? No one volunteered a thing, and Rally did not feel in the least like asking. Roy and Ken walked into Smith's office.

"Agent Smith, meet Ken Watanabe," said Roy. Hands were shaken all round and Rally gave Ken a quick hug. "He's volunteering his services, by the way."

"Your services? Thought you were Miss May's gentleman friend."

"Yes, I am," Ken replied, sitting down next to Wojohowicz. He looked drawn and worried. "From what Roy's told me about the situation with the Eight Dragon Triad, I might be able to help—obviously, I'm Asian, and I know a few things about explosives."

"A few things," repeated Smith. "Heh. Well, if you're an associate of these gals, I reckon you know what you're doing. Welcome to the team, Watanabe."

"Thank you, sir," said Ken. Roy sat down next to Rally, and Smith made an elaborate show of drawing attention to her.

"OK, Miss Rally," he barked. "Am I ever going to get an answer?" Everyone looked at her.

"Yes, I was gone too long. I was…driving. Out by the ocean…mostly." She had discovered while spending so many days in proximity to the ocean that something about it called to her. Huge, changeable, pitiless, magnificent, perilous. A force of nature. An endlessness where anything could happen, and a blankness into which one could project any quality…good, bad, or impersonally neutral.

That was what a force of nature was—neutral. It didn't accommodate anyone or anything or love or hatred; only its natural laws. The unbreakable rules on which its existence relied…

Roy's eyes were filled with sympathy. "He's not worth it, Rally."

She glanced up and met his gaze for a few moments. "I know."

"What?" said Ken, looking confused.

"I'll tell you about it later, Ken." Rally stared out the window as Smith began to talk.

It wasn't Bean's language, once the initial shock had worn off. He spoke the vernacular of the gutter; she knew that already. In her line of work, she heard ordinary four-letter words every day. It wasn't his exaggerated braggadocio—applied to her, it sickened and infuriated her, but it was nothing particularly original. It was just like a man of such coarse sensibilities to boast about his sexual prowess or about taking her virginity...except that Bean had never been given to lecherous remarks in general.

Until she had tempted him past the bounds of caution exactly one week before. A small reproving voice nagged her about that. Such a self-controlled man, even at his most violent. Could she in some way be responsible for all his visible loss of constraint since that night?

It wasn't even the fact he had said it in front of five male colleagues of hers or that he had insulted Roy's motives. Rally knew the whole idea of Roy wanting to bed her was ludicrous. He was about thirty years older than she was and had been married at least that long! Roy's reaction had been a little out of proportion to the slur, frankly. That kind of talk simply didn't matter.

What did matter was that Bean had gone out of his way to tell Roy he didn't love her. He didn't love her—had she ever really believed he did? Only when he denied it so bluntly did Rally feel a loss where perhaps nothing had existed in the first place.

Ironically, if that were the case, if Bean's attraction to her was nothing but sex, in a sense sleeping with him again would have been perfectly safe. Rally had convinced herself by now that her own fascination with him had been purely physical—she firmly applied the past tense—and if neither of them would have been doing more than scratching an itch, she thought that there had been no real hazard attached.

Other than discovering she had given herself to a man who could kiss and tell in public! How could he have done that? Why would a man like Bean lose his temper and his reserve and his emotional armor as if he had been truly hurt…?

Some grey, frozen part of her mind began to come to life again. Something like this had happened once before—Bean asserting in the foulest words he knew that all they had ever given each other was their bodies; shooting off his mouth in all directions as if he'd blown a head gasket. She knew why he had done that once, because he had told her. He had believed that she had robbed him. Taken something from him that she had no intention of giving back.

'It wasn't so much the dough, babe. It was knowin', like I thought I knew, that you didn't want me...' But no more than fifteen or twenty minutes after that tape had been made, he had walked into the Dragon headquarters for her sake. Risked his life. Tried to explain himself in the face of her fury, persisted until she forgave him, done her bidding and accepted her help! Kissed her! What did it mean?

"Earth to Rally Vincent," said Smith. "Beam her up, Scotty!"

"Uh…what?" Rally jumped. "Sorry."

"I was summarizing what we know about Dragon properties in the city! Christ on a crutch!"

"Pete, I'm sorry, I…"

"Sue, take Coleman and Mr. Takizawa to the conference room, OK?" said Smith, frowning at Rally. "We'll be along in a minute." Rally flushed again as Wojohowicz raised her brows and did as Smith asked. The three filed out of the room and left Smith and Rally alone. Gripping the arms of her chair, Rally lowered her head.

"OK, kid. Spit it out," said Smith. "What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"I…I…"

"This have something to do with the slagging match you and Bob were having when I walked in? I thought you'd be happy about the ballistics results! You worried about Miss May?"

"Yes…" Rally hung her head.

"And?"

"It…does have something to do with Wesson, yes."

"Yes?"

"Did he tell you about the tape he played for me?"

"Tape? No." Smith let out a breath; he sounded tired. "That wasn't the topic under discussion."

"Where is he now? Is he still on the investigation?"

"No, he's not," said Smith briefly. "I'm afraid I can't discuss FBI personnel matters." He let out another tired sigh. "Oh, hell…he's been transferred to other duties. Pending a possible suspension."

"Pete…I'm sorry."

"So am I. He was a good agent. A little too zealous, maybe, but a good agent. All my people are the best, understand? Maybe I pushed a little too hard to get this investigation concluded before I retire." Smith passed a hand over his face. "Fuck it. What was this tape he played?"

"It was the conversation Bean had with Roy when he stopped my car on the decoy operation. I guess the recorder in my car picked it up, and Wesson apparently wanted me to hear it because of—"

To her surprise, Smith let out a snorting laugh. "No shit? Coleman won't be too happy about that!"

"Roy? No, he didn't want to tell me about the things Bean said—he got really upset when I asked—"

"What Bean said?" Smith looked mildly incredulous. "Oh, that! Heh heh…"

Rally flushed with indignation. "I heard you making editorial comments in the background, Pete! Don't you think—"

Smith began laughing in earnest. "Hahaha! Look at those pink cheeks! Christ, girl, you think any of us took that as a reflection on you? The man had reason, for God's sake! Get over it!"

"Huh?"

"I think you'd better give that thing another listen!" Smith wiped a tear of hilarity from the corner of one eye. "Is that all that's bothering you, Miss Rally? Man, I thought it was something serious! Hahaha!" Rally sat flabbergasted, her eyes wide. What was he talking about? "So where's the bastard now? He get clear before Bob tried to scandalize you, or is his ventilated corpse sprawled in a back alley somewhere?" He slapped his thigh. "Heh heh…"

"W-where is Bean?"

"Yeah, where is he?" He gave her a knowing glance from steel-blue eyes. "You know what I mean, so don't make me say it out loud! Bob came to the same conclusion independently, and he wanted to get you to turn Bean over to the FBI, I suppose. I am not going to have him arrested now, so answer the question!"

"Uh…I don't know. Honestly, Pete, I don't. I went to look for him and he wasn't there."

"Blew town, hey? Well, to look at your face, that was the right thing to do. Had no idea you were such a shrinking violet. And in your line of work! A few four-letter words give you the vapors? Shee-it."

More than a few four-letter words! What had Roy said to Bean to bring out a tirade like that? With a sudden, almost sickening change of perspective, Rally realized that everything Bean had said might have another interpretation if she knew the context.

'_But I ain't in love with her, AM I?'_ The response to a provocation? It had seemed so damning. On the face of it, it _was_ damning. His own words said he was a reptile with no honor or consideration or regard for anyone. Wesson had played her that tape, looking more and more like Brown all the time…the master manipulator had a disciple.

Rally began to hyperventilate. A chunk of information out of context. Dumped suddenly into her lap like a heavy suitcase lurking in the trunk of a car. And she had reacted just as the manipulator wanted her to react. If Bean hadn't already left the hotel room, what might she have said to him? Apparently he wouldn't have seen any need to apologize, if Smith was right that he had reason for what he had said.

Rally squeezed her eyes shut in pain. She had barely known what she was doing, and she had been angry enough to— If she had pulled a gun on him, what would he have done? _I'd let you shoot me first._

"Thank you, God," she said aloud. "Thank you for not letting me kill him…"

"Women," snorted Smith. His phone rang and he picked it up. "Hold that thought. Smith." He listened for a moment, his brows tightening in a frown. "What?" His square face went grey and he half rose from his chair. "Fucking shit. Are you sure? Jesus H. Christ and the horse he rode in on…how?" Rally felt her heart jump and begin to pound.

"Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Get hold of yourself, you asshole. What about his partner?…Fuck. Read it to me." He listened for a few moments more. "He can suck my dick until he chokes. That man is a piece of work. Yes, the Bureau is going to take care of it. You think we let you goddamn municipal employees deal with our people? There will be agents on the scene in double-time. You call me right back if there's more shit on the pile. Goodbye."

Smith put the phone down and sat back with a thump. "They found Gonzales."

"Pete?" whispered Rally.

He cupped his face in one thick hand. "Dead."

"Oh, my God. I'm so—"

Smith picked up his phone again. "Smith. Get me the SAC. Emergency. Yes, at home. WOJOHOWICZ!" he yelled, putting the phone down again. "Get in here!" The agent's footfalls ran down the hallway and she, Roy, and Ken re-entered the office.

"What is it?" Wojohowicz asked.

"Ronnie's dead. The bastards caught him sniffing around."

"Holy shit!" said Wojohowicz. "426?"

"426. It has his signature. Literally."

"Signature?" said Roy.

"Gonzales was floating in the bay. Right past Pier 41. Scared the crap out of some tourists who spotted him. The fire department just hauled him out. Saw his FBI ID nailed to his chest and called me. He's got the Chinese characters for four hundred twenty-six carved on his forehead. Among other things."

"Jesus…" breathed Wojohowicz. Rally reached out a hand at random, and Wojohowicz grabbed it and squeezed.

Roy crossed himself and muttered a prayer, Ken looked grave.

"He couldn't describe it too well over the phone," said Smith. "Gagging a little much. But I gather Gonzales was electrocuted. Gradually."

Rally could barely speak, her throat tight as her clenched fists and her voice a croak. "What about Bui?"

"There was a note on the body, under the ID. They have Bui, they'll kill him too if we don't back off, et cetera, et cetera. Those stupid fucks. This is the fucking United States of America. Lin Shaoqi has gone off his fucking rocker."

"Yes, he has," said Wojohowicz, exchanging a glance with her boss. Both of them curled their lips back from their teeth and the female agent let go of Rally's hand. "How the hell does he think he's going to get away with this? We've arrested two-thirds of the Northern California soldiers already! What reserves can he call on now?"

"I don't care. Those bastards have killed an FBI agent," said Smith. "One of _my_ people. They are going to fucking pay." The phone rang. "Smith. …Yes, sir. Ronnie Gonzales has been assassinated by the Dragons and they claim to have Ed Bui. 426, yes. Thank you, sir, I appreciate that." He listened for a few moments. "Yes, sir, I know. No, we don't have a clue. But—yes, sir."

When he put the phone down, his face was still grey. "We don't know where they are. We don't know what they are going to do. We don't even know how many of them are left, or what their assets are, and they have one of ours as well as two civilians. We are fucked."

"But you're not going to—" Rally began.

"I have my orders," said Smith. He glanced up at Wojohowicz. "I have been told to back down and give the Dragons room to breathe. Goddammit."

"What?" spat Wojohowicz.

"Safety of the hostages is paramount, I am told. If the pressure goes off the whole situation will defuse, says the SAC. No more Waco standoffs for this Bureau!" Suddenly he grabbed an inscribed plaque off his desk and sent it rocketing into the wall. "Like hell! We've chopped the snake into bits, and they want to give it time to rejoin! All this work gone to SHIT!" He put his face into his hands. Wojohowicz slumped into a chair, her mouth contorting.

"What?" repeated Rally in disbelief, leaping to her feet. "You have to back off? NOW!"

"Yes, we do," said Wojohowicz when Smith didn't answer. "We are FBI agents, and we follow orders. Fuck it all to hell."

"You can say that again! I'm supposed to just sit back and let them force May to…" Rally broke off, her mind racing. "Pete. Am I still under FBI orders?"

"Huh?" Smith looked up, his eyes a little wild.

"That ballistics report proves I didn't shoot Huang, and we know Brown didn't die in the fire. That was the main reason I had to sign that paper, right?"

"What?"

"The paper I signed, that basically deputized me to the FBI. I had to sign it because I was in big trouble for some things that we now know didn't happen. Right?"

Smith's face changed and he reached into his desk. "This paper."

"That one, yes. Am I still constrained by FBI orders, Agent Smith?"

Rally watched as Smith seized the signed paper in both hands and ripped it top to bottom, crumpling the halves. She smiled, and he returned the smile with all his teeth showing, as did Wojohowicz.

"It's all yours, sweetheart," said Smith.

* * *

"Come on, Hopkins. I've got a customer for you!" Pai Li bustled into the lounge of the Pink Pearl with a few items of lingerie over her arm.

"Wonderful," said May dejectedly. She patted the sleeping Tiffany's head, easing the little girl off her lap, and pulled a sofa throw over her.

"You can leave her here for now, honey. She looks out for the count. Hey, put a grin on that kisser! We give our money's worth at this place!"

"Yeah." May lowered her head, then brought it up again, a beaming smile on her lips. It didn't reach her eyes. Her eyes were hard and bright.

"There you go!" said Pai Li, shaking out the lingerie. "I knew you hadn't lost your professional attitude! OK, now this is a _special_ customer. I reserved you this late into the evening because I knew something unusual would come up…and you are the best I know at the unusual stuff!"

"Oh, you betcha," said May with a little sigh. "How weird are we talking here? Doggy-style, complete with barking?"

"Hee hee! Oh, I knew a guy who—well, at any rate, he wants a pregnant girl, he said! Go figure!"

"Oboy," said May, looking down at her abdomen.

"You are the only pregnant one in the whole house…frankly, in the whole Bay Area." Pai Li shrugged. "He said he's been trying all over town! So he's in luck, or we are. He offered a lot of money if we could come up with a bun in the oven! A thousand bucks for one hour! Not to mention, he said he liked blondes and he liked them small! How's that for a nice fit? Gee, if you play your cards right, you could have a high-rolling regular for a while!"

"I'm absolutely thrilled," said May, getting up. "How should I dress?"

"Put these on! See—a lace camisole and panties in your size. That'll show your tummy better than that dress. Let's hurry—he seemed impatient! I put him straight into a room."

"Do I get any of this big fee?" May slipped her clothes off and began to put the panties on.

"Hmm…well, of course you don't have a contract." Pai Li looked quizzical. "I don't know, but I'll ask Madame Lum when she gets back. I suppose you can keep the tip if he gives you one…and I bet he will!"

"Really? What's he like? Some rich old bastard?"

"No, actually he's not old at all!" Pai Li ran a brush through May's hair as she tied the camisole's ribbons. "Hey, that coral color looks great on you! Thought it would! Here's a negligee to put over it. OK, what's he like? He's Asian, fairly well dressed…maybe thirty? Nothing nasty! Just has some specialized tastes."

"I guess he does. How ugly is he? Prepare me so I don't make a face."

"Um…well, he's not exactly _ugly_, though I'd have to admit he's not my idea of handsome. I think he must be part Russian or something, actually. Kind of a…_strong_ face."

"Oh boy, that sounds ominous. Weighs five hundred pounds or something? Quadruple chins?"

"Oh, no!" Pai Li shook her head vigorously. "Muscles! Big tall guy, with a nice set of shoulders! Must be an enforcer for one Triad or another. I think you'll like him!"

"If I don't, he'll never know the difference," replied May, following Pai Li down the hallway.

"That's what I want to hear, sweetie! I put him in the Red suite. All the supplies and sex toys are in the nightstands, OK? You can do it without a condom if he insists, but tell him it's twenty-five percent extra."

"Got it," said May.

Pai Li opened the door and ushered her inside. "Sir? Here she is! I know you'll like her, because I picked her especially for you! Isn't she a cutie? And five months along!"

The black-haired, leather trench-coated man standing by the window turned around, looked May up and down and smiled. "Yeah. Perfect." He tipped Pai Li, who backed out the door and closed it, raising her brows at May.

Who stood transfixed, staring. "Bean?"

"Uh-huh." He looked down at his dress shirt and black slacks and fingered his necktie with a smile. His hair had been trimmed and plastered back with gel, but was not much shorter than it had been. Nevertheless, he was not immediately recognizable other than by the jaw. The long, unbelted leather coat lent his lean frame considerable bulk and apparent weight, and his distinctive scar had been camouflaged with a large pair of amber-tinted aviator-framed glasses. "Do I look dumb in this getup or what? I'm here to bust you out, kid."

"B-Bean?" May put her hands to her mouth, her eyes welling up.

"You OK? How they been treating you?"

"BEAN!" May yelled, running to him and embracing him. "YOU'RE ALIVE!"

"Whoa there, kid!" Bean grinned and put a hand on her shoulder, attempting to disengage her arms from their vigorous clutch around his waist. "You heard about that, huh?"

"Yes, Manichetti told me! Oh, Bean! What happened!"

"Vincent says the machines all went flat for a while. I dunno. I don't remember much of it." He shrugged. "At any rate, here I am. Thought I'd check the Triad cathouses, 'cause I got some info—"

"Rally? How is Rally?"

"Just fine last I saw her. You're the one in trouble, squirt. So let's get you outta here! Tell me the layout of this joint." Bean reached inside his coat. "Brought you a present." He handed her a McDonald's bag holding a flash-bang, a pair of confetti bombs and a frag grenade.

"Oooh!" May's eyes lit up as she gathered the explosives into her arms. "But…I can't go."

"Huh? Why not?"

"They have Tiffany Brown."

"Yeah?" Bean's face darkened. "They ain't hurt her?"

"She's OK for now. I don't know what 426's plans for her are. But he said if I tried to escape they'd take it out on her! Madame Lum will put her to work!"

"What?"

"She will give her to the customers who…who like little girls. Bean, if I don't stay with her—it could be a lot worse than that. 426 will come calling…"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you so much for the present! I'm sure it will come in handy!" May wrapped the grenades tightly in the bag. "But I can't go. I'm sorry!"

"So let's get the kid too." He cracked his knuckles.

"But there's security and lots of people in here! They'll spot you and it'll be all over for both of us! Rally said Madame Lum saw you at the pier—if she gets back, she'll give the alarm!"

"You think I give a crap about a bunch of Dragons?" Bean grinned with a flash of sharp teeth.

"Of course not, but—"

"So what's the problem?"

"B-Bean, Madame Lum said…" May put her hands on her round belly. "She'll take me to their doctor…and make me abort my baby." Her voice cracked. Bean's eyes went wide. "They'll kill Junior! I know she wasn't joking, Bean. She's done things like—"

He hissed a fierce breath through his grimace. "Listen up, squirt. If you don't split, they'll do whatever they damn well please anyhow. I ain't leaving you here under a threat like that! You got your firecrackers, I got a blade or two. Bring 'em on!"

"Oh, Bean! You are so right!" May reached to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for coming to rescue us!"

"Sure thing." He put a hand on her shoulder again. "Let's go for it, then. Where's the kid?"

"In the lounge—no, wait!"

"Huh?"

"Give it a few minutes." May looked up at the light fixtures. "We had better not leave the room yet."

"Oh. Yeah, I paid a lot for ya, didn't I?" He chuckled and pulled up a chair. "I'll hang out for a little while."

"Um…you know, Bean, someone is probably watching us."

"Watching us?"

"Have you ever been in an expensive place before? A ritzy whorehouse, as opposed to—?"

"I guess so. Well, not in the rooms." He cocked a brow at the furniture.

"Just for deliveries? You know, these rooms are nearly always under surveillance with video cameras."

"Uh-oh." Bean glanced around and up at the light fixtures as May had.

"The microphone wouldn't be over here by the window. It's probably in the headboard and won't pick us up unless we're right on the mattress. But the camera would cover most of the room."

"You think someone's monitoring it?"

"Almost certainly, since I'm on probation. Pai Li's watching, if I don't miss my guess—that's the woman who brought me here. She'll be checking for quality control purposes! She's going to wonder what's going on if we don't…" May smiled as Bean's eyes grew wide again. "So we'd better put on a little show for her, hmm?"

"W-what?"

"Geez, don't look so panicked!" May put both hands against his chest and pushed him backwards towards the bed. "I can make it look like a lot more's going on than IS!"

"But…but…"

"I swear, you are BLUSHING!" said May in laughing disbelief. "I didn't think you were that shy! Not after what Rally—"

"Rally?" Bean grew bright red.

"Oh, she told me ALL about it, Bean!" teased May. "Every detail! Come on, take it off!" She yanked off his leather coat and threw it over the headboard of the bed. "There, that will screw up the mic! Flat on your back, now!"

Bean resisted her push. "She told you?"

"What did you expect, huh? Girls gossip!" May expertly unknotted Bean's necktie. "Man, I didn't think you even knew how to tie one of these!"

"Hey! You didn't think like Coleman did? That I—"

"Raped her?" May looked up from unbuttoning his shirt. "Actually, yes."

"Shit…"

"Don't look like that! Only at first! Then she told me how it was." Her tongue protruded slightly as she grinned. "That eased my mind! Oh, my God!" She had exposed Bean's stitched neck wound. "That looks like the Frankenstein monster! Did they have to sew your head back on or something? Where are the _bolts_?"

"Just a damn cut," said Bean, rolling his eyes.

"I'd hate to see what you called a bad wound! Yuckie! Well, as I was saying…Rally spilled the _beans_! Hahaha!"

"Oh, man… _Hey_!" Bean batted May's hand away from the fly of his pants.

"How did _you_ ever get so demure?" May seized Bean's fly again and zipped it open. "Let's take a look!" She reached inside and grabbed. "Oh, my!"

"Knock that off!" Bean jerked back and zipped up.

"Woof!" said May, grinning even wider and measuring the air with her splayed hand. "How much bigger does it get when it's hard?"

"None of yer beeswax—hey!" May gave Bean a firm shove and toppled him onto the bed. She leaped over him and emphatically sat down on his hips as he tried to roll away. "You nuts or something, kid?" he choked. "Get off me!"

"You sure about that, Bean…?" May cooed in his ear. "You did pay a grand for me, you know…" She licked his earlobe, rotated her pelvis and snickered at his horrified gasp.

"Uh-uh!" He grabbed her under the arms and lifted her in the air, dumping her on the side of the bed. "I ain't doing anything of the kind! You can tell 'em I walked out!"

"Just testing!" May rolled next to him, laughing, and yanked him down by the throat. "Sorry if I frightened you! I don't want to do it for real either, though I have to say the thought had crossed my mind once or twice!" She giggled and gave him a peck on the end of the nose.

"Jeezus," muttered Bean. "How do I get myself into these things?"

"Just let me pretend I'm sucking you off, OK? I won't touch you at all!"

"How the hell you going to manage that?"

"Watch!" May jumped between Bean's raised knees as he lay on the bed and put her forehead on his stomach. "I'll hide everything with my hair. Pai Li will be none the wiser!" She mimed unzipping him again and pretended to clutch something in both hands, bobbing her head up and down and grinning at his incredulous expression. "See? From above, it looks like you're getting deep-throated!"

"Wonderful."

"Of course, it would help if you looked like you were ENJOYING it or something!"

"Aw, cripes…" Bean put a hand over his eyes.

"So, tell me," said May after a few moments of silence. "How did you like it the night you and Rally got together? Oh, and tell me about the time in Buttonkettle when she started taking her clothes off! Not the most romantic setting, but—"

"TELL you? Not in a thousand years, kid!"

"Come on, give!" May cackled. "I already got her side of the story—I want it all! How did she like that big ol' thing of yours?"

Bean maintained a stunned silence.

"I can tell you the answer to that one! She said she was really surprised at how gentle you were! At least with her! And she was really touched that you cared so much about what she thought of you! How about that?"

"Huh?"

"She told me…she keeps thinking about you…" sang May, rocking back and forth on her knees. "She said you were fan-TAS-tic…"

"That's it. I am outta here." Bean pushed May aside and got up.

"Oh, come on! Can't you even fake an orgasm?" Bean made a strangled sound, buttoning up his shirt. "Geez, they are going to think I have totally lost my touch!"

"Tough!"

"Cowabunga!" yelled May, jumping off the bed and onto Bean's shoulders. "Watch it, Bandit! I'm going to pull some more hair out if you don't COOPERATE here!" She grabbed two handfuls and yanked.

"Hey! Ouch!"

"On your BACK! And STAY there!"

"NO! Knock it off!" He spun around.

"If you don't, I'll tell Rally you tore my clothes off, ignored my tearful protestations and ravaged me with that spectacular prong until I screamed for mer—"

"STOP IT! DON'T SAY THAT! SHUT UP!"

"Wow, touched a nerve!" May slid off Bean's back. "What's the matter?" He didn't answer. "Look, I'm sorry I told Roy I thought you'd, um, gotten mad and raped her. But you've got to realize, it was a total surprise for both of us and—" May took another look at his face. "God, Bean. What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. You are shaking all over! Something to do with me? It would seem like child molesting? I'm twenty, you know—"

"No. Nothin'!"

"Or with the idea that you might commit a…" May's eyes popped. "Bean. I know you aren't the rapist type, OK? I bet you don't even like a woman to pretend she's resisting! Not like I haven't met plenty of that kind! Will you relax?"

"How the hell do you know what type I am, kid?" Bean grabbed his coat from the head of the bed. "Come on, dammit!" He slammed the door open and left, May at his heels.

* * *

"Honey…I got you a present…" whispered Manichetti, touching Tiffany's hair as she slept on the sofa in the lounge of the Pink Pearl. "Honey?"

"Manny?" the little girl yawned. "Are you gonna take me home now? Where's Mama?"

"Your mama is OK, honey. Don't worry. Look, I got you a Barbie." Manichetti held up a box, smiling. "The one you wanted. How's Baby Bear?"

"Baby Bear was asleep too," said Tiffany, holding up the teddy. "Wake up, Baby!"

"Don't take too long, dude," said a large Filipino man in the doorway. "426 wants you there in half an hour." He watched a lissome blonde Russian girl stroll down the hallway in a loose dressing gown. "Um…I guess you can drive yourself back, right?" He followed the girl.

"Honey, you remember those pretty blue stones I gave ya? You still have 'em?"

"Uh-huh," said the child, knuckling her eyes.

"Can I have them back, baby? Just for Manny, huh? Look, I brought you something else." He produced a cheap seed-pearl necklace worked to look like a chain of flowers.

"Oh, pretty!" Tiffany seized the necklace and held it up to the light.

"I know you liked the blue stones, honey, but Manny kinda needs 'em. Please?"

"OK," said Tiffany with a shrug. "Is it 'cause they're worth money?"

"You got it, smart girl. Manny's all out of money!"

"I'm really smart," said Tiffany, digging the earrings out of Baby Bear's pockets. "I like pearls better anyway!"

Manichetti took the sapphires and thrust them into his shirt pocket. "Thank you, honey." He dropped a kiss on her hair. "I'm tryin' to figure how I can get you and your mama together again, OK? I got to use my noodle."

"OK." Tiffany put the necklace on and dug her chin into her chest to admire it. Someone took a step on the carpet just outside the doorway and the little girl looked up. "Hi, May!"

"Ssshh!" said May with a finger on her lips. "Manichetti? What are you doing here?"

"Miss May?" Manichetti got to his feet. "I'm sorry. I wish I could get you out of this place, but I ain't even got a—"

"Don't worry!" said May, winking. "We've got a cunning plan! Tiffany, come with me!" She caught the girl's hand and hauled her along, Manichetti dashing after them.

"Wait!"

"Hey, don't make so much noise!" scolded May. "I'm taking her to the parking garage. You want to come with us, fine, but—"

"They'll nab you!" Manichetti pleaded in a whisper, lumbering after the two girls. "I'm not armed! I can't—"

"Oh, I don't need your help! I've got MUSCLE!"

"Huh?"

A large figure in a long coat stepped around a corner in front of them. "Got her? Let's go."

"Look, it's the driver man!" chirped Tiffany. "Hi, driver man!"

"Hey, kid," said Bean, then looked at Manichetti.

"Wha-what the hell are YOU doin' here!" chattered Manichetti, backing up against the wall. "You're dead! Holy Mother of God!" He crossed himself.

"Ah, shut yer face," growled Bean. "I ain't a ghost." He nipped Manichetti's nose between finger and thumb and pinched. "See?"

"Christ in heaven!" yelled Manichetti, falling to his knees in an attitude of prayer. "Don't kill me! Please!"

"The guy I'm hankering to kill is Sly Brown," said Bean. "Though if he's split to frickin' Switzerland I guess I could just break _your_ fat neck instead!" He cracked his knuckles. "Let's see how loud ya pop!"

"Hey!" Tiffany pounded Bean's thigh with her fists. "Don't hurt Manny!"

Manichetti sobbed in fear, prostrating himself at Bean's feet. "No! For the love of God, have mercy! I'm on your side, man! Don't kill me!"

"Yeah, right. There's only one guy on my side, and you're lookin' at him!" Bean grabbed the back of Manichetti's collar and hauled him upright, drawing a switchblade. "Stand up, shitbag. I want ya to see it coming!"

"He's using naughty words," said Tiffany. "You're a bad man!"

"Bean, come on!" urged May. "You can sort it out with Brown's flunkies later, OK? Geez!"

"Yeah," said Bean with a cold glare, letting Manichetti go. "Which way?"

"There's the door to the stairwell," said May. "We'd better not use the elevator."

"He coming with us?" Bean and May considered Manichetti, who picked Tiffany up and hugged her, his face trembling.

"I better not," he said. "I'll beat it once she's clear of the Dragons."

"Get her down to the garage," said Bean. "I'll cover the rear." He opened the stairwell door and pointed. Manichetti started down with Tiffany in his arms.

"Ooohh! There you are, you little bitch!" yelled Pai Li, barrelling around the corner with the large Filipino man in her wake. "What the hell are you doing? You're going to get me in trouble!"

"Sorry, gotta go," said May, and ducked into the stairwell. Bean turned and cracked his knuckles. The Filipino charged at him, drawing a gun; Bean seized it with one hand and slammed the man headfirst against the wall with his own momentum. He threw the gun down the stairwell with a clatter and met the next charge with the knife.

The Filipino dropped with his throat slashed and Pai Li shrieked when his blood spattered her face and dress.

"Aaahh! Hopkins, you're never going to work in this industry again! I'm going to tell Madame—"

"Music to my ears," called May. "Tell the old water buffalo she can sit on it and SPIN!"

"Ooohh!" cried Pai Li. "Waaah! I'm gonna get fired again!" Bean scooped an arm around Pai Li's waist as she tried to run.

"Keep yer mouth shut, if you want to live," he said, holding his bloody knife in front of her eyes. Pai Li nodded, shaking in fear, and he flicked his finger hard against the base of her skull. She went limp, and he lowered her unconscious body to the carpet, wiped the knife on the dead man's pants and followed May.

In the Pink Pearl's parking garage, Bean selected a small Porsche Boxter and hotwired it for May while she buckled Tiffany into the passenger seat. Manichetti bit his nails and nervously watched the entrances.

"I'll take her straight to the Federal Building," said May, buckling her own seatbelt. "Bean, you are a hero." She reached up and kissed his cheek, and Manichetti put his face to Tiffany's for a moment.

"You're gonna see your mama real soon, honey."

"Yep," replied May, setting her grenades out on the dashboard and shoving the frag bomb between her legs. "Or my name's not May Hopkins! Don't worry about us, Bean."

"I ain't," he said, chuckling, and slammed the driver's door of the Boxter. His own dark-blue Corvette stood nearby, and when May had driven out, he began to walk over to it, then glanced at Manichetti as he tried to edge to his own car.

"OK, you son of a bitch. Time to sort it out!" Bean stalked forward.

"No! Please!" Manichetti retreated and cowered next to the stairwell as Bean loomed over him. "I'll do anything!"

"There ain't nothing I need you to do, shitbag! Now's the time to say yer prayers!"

"I'll—I'll give you info! I'll tell ya everything, Bandit! Please! Anything you want to know—!"

"Shut up," said Bean, shoving him against the wall. Manichetti fell in a heap and covered his head with both hands. "Talk's cheap!"

"Money? You want money? I'll give ya—"

"Money? Like that god-blasted five hundred grand? Ten times that wouldn't settle the score now! Will ya get on your frickin' feet?" He kicked Manichetti in the back.

"Ow! Ten times? I can tell you where there's a hundred times that!"

"Huh?" said Bean, halting the next kick. "Fifty million?"

"More! Right in Frisco! I swear to God!"

Bean's expression, which had been startled, closed down to a scowl. "You're shittin' me."

"No shittin'!" gasped Manichetti. "The Dragons got all their loot together in one place. All their smack, all their cash and jewels and gold and a lot of negotiable securities! More like fifty-five, sixty mil! I know it's here 'cause I gave 'em a lot of it! They're gonna ship it all out've the country once this thing is settled with the FBI! I'll tell ya where it is!"

"Yeah?"

"I got all of Brown's dough together! Cashed out all the accounts he had in the States and took all the gold coins and paper he had stashed! I even grabbed that half mil Brown showed ya at the pier. The Dragons have it now!"

"Yeah? Why'd you give it to 'em?"

"For the kid!" pleaded Manichetti, holding out his hands in supplication.

"What?" said Bean.

"I went to 426, see? I said, I swear Brown's dead and here's where I put his loot! Forty million, plus! Take it all and don't kill her! He took it!"

"Forty mil for one kid?" Bean looked both incredulous and impressed, aiming a thumb in the direction May had gone. "Sly Brown's kid?"

"Yeah, for her." Manichetti slowly rose, hugging the wall. "All of it."

"I'm supposed to believe that?"

"I'd've given anything, man!" cried Manichetti. "What's the use of all the money in the damn world if you ain't got your—I mean, she's worth it to me! Worth my goddamn miserable LIFE, even! You…you ever love somebody?" Bean narrowed his eyes. "Aw, c'mon, you know what I mean, Bandit! You walked right into the Dragon's HQ for Rally Vincent—she told me all about it! You musta got a bad case for…uh…no offense—?" He began to duck and cover again at Bean's expression.

"Where's this pile of loot you claim they got? Any proof?"

"How can I prove it? You got to go look, that's all. There's not a lot of guards on it, 'cause they're short-handed and they don't want to draw attention!" Manichetti took out a pen, scribbling on a business card. "That's the slip number. San Francisco Yacht Club! Tens of millions, dude. Make ya for life!"

"Huh," said Bean, taking the card. "And if you're lyin' like a dog?"

"It's no lie. God's my witness! Hey—here's somethin' on account!" Manichetti reached into his jacket and Bean grabbed his arm. "No! I ain't got a gun, see? This! Take 'em!" He thrust the sapphire earrings into Bean's hand.

"What the hell?" said Bean, looking at the blue glint in his palm.

"They're real valuable! Brown paid a hundred large for 'em! You can get fifty at least—they're not hot or anything! See, just to show ya my sincerity!"

"I saw these before somewhere." Bean creased his brow and rolled the earrings over with a flex of his hand.

"Right! He bought 'em for Rally Vincent! Spent a goddamn hour just lookin' at every pair of cut stones and another hour pickin' out the setting! He was laughing about how she'd change her tune when she saw those rocks—he didn't learn that kinda lesson real well, you notice that? And then she goes and throws 'em back in his face first chance she gets, like I coulda told him and saved him the trouble! Pissed him off real bad, I'll tell ya—I saw him smack his tootsies around for a hell of a lot less, like they picked the wrong dress to wear!"

"Eh."

"Guess she never even tried 'em on, huh?" said Manichetti, smiling weakly. "That gal's a straight arrow and no mistake—"

"Oh, she tried 'em on," said Bean with a smirk, tucking the sapphires and the address into a coat pocket. "OK, dude. So where'd you dump the stiff?"

Manichetti went white. "Huh?"

"Brown paid a hundred for 'em? And you got these fancy rocks rattlin' around with yer loose change just 'cause yer boss decided he didn't want 'em any more? Guess he must really be dead after all." Bean winked. "More power to ya, dude. I'm going to check out your info here, and if it ain't what you say, you better be in Outer Mongolia before I come looking for ya." He jumped into his Corvette and slammed the door, rumbling out of the garage. Manichetti looked after him, still shaking, and wiped his sweaty face.

"God," he whispered. "Think I'd've preferred a ghost…"

* * *

"Agent Smith? There's someone asking for you in the lobby." A secretary put her head into Smith's office as Rally and Ken prepared to leave. "A couple of little girls…and one of them is wearing only underwear."

"Huh?" said Smith, putting down his phone.

"Underwear?" said Ken.

"She's blonde, she looks about twelve, and there's a smaller girl with her. Holding a teddy bear."

Rally's eyes started out of the sockets. "Ken! Come with me!" They dashed down the hallway to the lobby, Roy and Smith and Wojohowicz following close behind.

"AAAAAAHHHH!" she screamed. Agents's heads popped out of offices and cubicles. "MAAAAAY!"

"RAAALLLYYY!" screamed May. "KEENNNNYY!" They all collided in the middle of the lobby, hugging and crying. Tiffany looked at them wide-eyed, clutching her teddy bear.

"You're really loud," she said reprovingly. Ken seized May and whirled her around, nearly hitting Roy.

"Wow!" said Smith. "How'd they escape?"

Rally jumped up and down several times, whooping and waving her arms. "Oh, May! You are a genius! How'd you do it?" She grabbed her away from Ken and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Ken grabbed her back and kissed her on the mouth; she enthusiastically responded and threw her arms around his neck.

Roy went to Tiffany and picked her up while Smith seized the receptionist's phone and began to shout into it. Agents began to pack the lobby, smiling or looking confused. "I should have known!" Rally gloated. "Gunsmith Cats rule! Yeeehaaww!"

Wojohowicz patted Tiffany's head. "Your mama is waiting for you, Tiffany. I'll call her guard to bring her over right away."

"Mama?" said Tiffany. Wojohowicz beckoned to Roy, and he handed Tiffany to her.

"I'll bring her to the break room. I think someone could use a cup of hot cocoa…" She left the crowded lobby with the little girl. May finally pulled her tongue out of Ken's mouth and looked at Rally, her eyes sparkling with happy tears.

"Oh, Ral! You even brought my Kenny for me!"

"Uh, well, that was Roy…" Rally admitted. "But I'm so glad you're back! You have to tell me all about it, you amazing girl!"

"I didn't do it on my own." May grinned from ear to ear. "It was Bean."

Rally's vision went dizzy for a moment. "Wh…what?"

"Bean rescued us. He is wonderful. I love him totally!" She squeezed Ken. "I mean, I love you best, Ken. But right now, Bean Bandit is my knight in shining armor. You are going to have to thank him properly, Rally! You know what I mean!" May whooped with laughter and kissed Ken again.

"Bean," said Roy, and sat down on one of the lobby chairs. Rally nearly fell beside him, and they looked at each other.

"Bean?" she repeated in a whisper. "God, Bean…?"

* * *

"My baby…my baby…" wept Sarah Brown, clutching her daughter. Chocolate smeared over her face, Tiffany wriggled and kicked and got out of her mother's grasp.

"Baby Bear's here too, Mama. Give her a hug!" Sarah only sobbed. "Why are you sad, Mama?"

"I'm not sad, honey. I'm so happy you're safe. I only wish Manny were here…"

"Manny helped rescue us too, Mama. He's OK. Look, he gave me a pretty!" She displayed her seed-pearl necklace.

"Okay," said Smith with a sigh. "Let's go over this again. Manichetti got into the brothel along with Bean?"

"No, no," May corrected, sitting on Ken's lap and speaking in between kisses. "Manichetti came to visit Tiffany, I guess. Bean came to get me out. He didn't like it when he saw one of Brown's people. I left them in the garage together…um…" She lowered her voice. "I don't know what Bean did to him after I was gone. He might not be, uh, in good shape any more."

"Oboy," said Smith. "OK, let's get the girls out of here…I mean, Mrs. Brown and her daughter. Take them to her hotel," he instructed an agent. "Double the guard, because 426 will be majorly pissed at this turn of events." Wojohowicz came into the conference room, her face pink.

"Pete! It's Manichetti!"

"You located him?" said Smith, getting up. "If it's bad news, maybe you'd better—"

"No, he's here!" said Wojohowicz. "Walked in and submitted to arrest! He's cuffed in the lobby!"

Smith, after a flabbergasted glance at Rally, laughed out loud. "He's got a gift for that, hasn't he? OK, let's get him in here!" Wojohowicz dashed off and Smith leaned over to Rally with a conspiratorial smile. "Let's see how the reunion goes. Might tell us a few things." Rally raised her brows and said nothing. May went back to kissing Ken.

Roy got up, and when Manichetti was ushered in, hands chained behind his back, Rally turned around and kept her eyes on Sarah Brown. She burst out into a fresh fit of weeping, and Manichetti let out a cry. Tiffany hung on his leg and Sarah threw her arms around his neck; apparently all was forgiven.

"Aah, unlock the cuffs," whispered Smith, obviously touched. "Let him hug her." When they were off, Manichetti knelt down in front of Sarah and took Tiffany into his arms as she giggled happily. It struck Rally, seeing him and the child together for the first time, that their eyes were almost exactly the same color.

"Manny!"

"Oh, baby…" he whispered through tears, and buried his face in Sarah's stomach as she bent over him and stroked his hair, crying. Rally grimaced and looked away. All this affection and waterworks was beginning to get on her nerves.

May and Smith seemed to be enjoying it, but she could hardly bear it any longer; the look of adoration on Ken's face as he cradled May was too much for her. Although he didn't resemble Bean other than in coloring, he reminded her far too closely of emotions she had once felt, and once projected onto Bean. As the cooing and crying went on, Rally got up and looked out through the conference room's glass windows. Roy rose and stood next to her.

"So…" he said.

"I don't think I can talk about it right now, Roy," said Rally, still staring into space. "I'm glad he helped May. I'm really glad she's all right, and that she got Tiffany out with her. I guess I have some idea why he did it, but I don't even want to think about it right now. OK?"

"Yeah, OK," said Roy.

"Call me when there's any information, or a contact from 426," said Rally to Smith. "I'm going to take everyone to the hotel for the night, but I'll do everything I can to help get Agent Bui back. I owe you."

"No, I owe you, kid," he said, shaking her hand. "Be seeing you." Rally nodded and headed out with Roy, May and Ken. On the way, Roy filled May in on everything that had happened since her kidnap, leaving out what he knew about Bean's residence in Rally's room; Rally drove in silence. Roy headed to his room to call his wife, and May yanked Ken into hers after retrieving her suitcase from Rally.

She stood alone in the hallway, listening to May's high-pitched giggles and the bouncing creak of the bed. They would probably keep at it all night and make love until the sun came up. Rally sighed and put her key in the door of her room.

There was the table at which they had eaten, there the chair he had sat in. The bloody ruins of a leather jacket in the bathtub. Napkins stained with barbeque sauce: the hard ends of rib bones in a foil container. And the rumpled bed, surrounded with empty transfusion bags and an IV stand.

Rally slowly picked up all the trash and medical supplies and bundled them in a wastebasket liner, then made the bed. She'd have to discard the bag elsewhere, but she wanted to remove every reminder from her sight. When the place was tidy, she took a shower and scrubbed the tub to wash away every trace of blood. With her pajamas on, she brushed her teeth and combed out her hair, then went into the bedroom and turned out the lights. She folded down the comforter and got into bed.

The pillow sank gently under the weight of her head, breathing out a human scent. Not a strong one, but very familiar. Bean. He had slept here for many hours, permeating the sheets with himself, and she was cradled in his unmistakable presence.

Rally bit her lips to hold back the tears. He'd paid back every particle of debt he owed her, both for stealing the money and for accepting her help when he'd left the hospital. They were even. Dead even. She wouldn't see him again on this job; he was surely on the way home even now. He didn't even know that Agent Bui was a captive, and Rally doubted he would care if he did know.

Not until she got back to Chicago would she set eyes on Bean Bandit once more. And in Chicago, everything would be different. Or the same again, the way it had always been between them—wary, even when they were on good terms. Distant. Professional. No matter what the explanation might be for Bean's tirade at Roy, it had slashed apart her illusions. If there had ever been a chance for them, it was lost. The Bean she had thought she knew, the one who could laugh with her while they drove, kiss her from sheer helpless passion, the one who might have loved her, would never show his face again. Rally buried her nose in the pillow and wrapped it in her arms. Two rooms away, May and Ken's lovemaking was still audible.

Perhaps the best way to get to sleep would be to pretend that her illusionary Bean was with her after all. One last time, before she would put away childish dreams, and grow up for good. Rally closed her eyes and curled up around the pillow, breathing in the smell of Bean's body. Almost, if she concentrated, she could imagine that he was in this bed with her. A few inches away, radiating warmth from his skin.

She pictured him lying with her, his eyes closed and his hair sprawling, face pillowed on his substantial arm, and knew very well that he could have had her for the asking that afternoon. He'd already planned to go after May, of course, and he hadn't told her so. Not wanting to raise her hopes in case he failed? Or not wanting to seem to ask for gratitude, his pride too inflexible to admit his desire to help? Probably both. Rally could only be glad that she had not actually slept with Bean again, in light of what she knew now, but for a moment she still longed so much for him that she forgot every grudge, every caution.

For that moment, she gave herself to him in imagination, and heard her quiet moan echo May's faint ecstatic sounds. "Oh, Bean," she whispered. "If only…"


	20. Chapter 20

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty**

"I have thrown a hexagram three times." 426 cupped three worn bronze coins in his hand. "It is different each time, but it's odd…"

"What's odd, sir?" Wo locked the door of the storage closet and came towards 426 where he sat at his computer.

"I've written the questions and the answering hexagrams here." 426 laid the coins on a yellow legal pad on the table next to the keyboard. In pencil, there were three lines of scrawled characters and three stacked arrangements of horizontal lines, long and short. "Gu, Kan, Jian. They are not propitious, but I confess that the interpretation eludes me."

"Uh…I'm sorry, sir. I don't have the I Ching memorized." Wo frowned at the characters, apparently having trouble making them out.

"No?" 426 passed his fingertips down the first line of characters. "Gu is decay. I asked a question about the future of the Triad. Kan is double bind." He put his lightly closed fists together. "I asked a question about the prospects for my immediate plans." He placed his hands palm to palm. "Jian is obstruction. The question was if anyone remained to thwart those plans."

"Oh."

"Not propitious at all. But that makes little sense. I have covered for every contingency." 426 shook his head and put the coins into the inner breast pocket of his suit coat. "Ah well. It's only fortune-telling."

Someone knocked on the pedestrian door by the side of the main garage door, and both men looked up. 426 saved his spreadsheet and turned the computer off. "That must be 213 and his men. Please go open the door for them." Wo jogged up the driveway ramp and opened the pedestrian door a crack, then pressed a button to raise the main door.

Three large Lincoln Town Cars with rental plates came down the ramp and parked in the middle of the garage, and a man got out of the first, bowing as he emerged. He was a tall, pinched-face Chinese in slacks and windbreaker.

"It's good to see you, 213. Welcome to my headquarters, such as it is."

"Honored Red Pole," said 213, shaking hands. "It has been too long."

Ten more men, most of them lean young Vietnamese, emerged from the cars. Each man bowed to 426 and received a nod in return, then took a place in line, jostling a bit for position. "Sir, this is 42, and this is 51." 213 indicated the only two Chinese among the soldiers. The Vietnamese looked at each other as their superiors spoke in Cantonese; they seemed sullen and uncertain, shifting their postures frequently.

"I greet you, Triads," said 426 in English, walking the line as if for a military inspection. "And I greet you, soldiers. All of you are welcome, and valuable to our efforts." The Vietnamese looked unconvinced, a couple of them whispering to each other in their own language.

"Silence!" said 213, and they subsided, rolling their eyes.

426 ignored them. "213, come with me for a moment." He walked to the storage closet, Wo unlocking the door for him. "I would like to introduce you to Agent Edward Bui of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Inside, the air was thick and hot and stifling. By one wall, a set of metal bedsprings lay on the floor, wires attached to it extending to two car batteries. Additional wires equipped with large alligator clips tangled with the bedsprings. If a man had lain on the bedsprings, the clips would have been at the levels of his feet, genitals, nipples and tongue. The only light, a battery lantern hanging on the wall, shone out a white beam slightly obscured with drifting incense smoke. Another smell hung in the air, a stink of hot wires, urine and charred flesh; the incense didn't cover it entirely.

"He is our guest for the moment. Agent Bui, this is 213, the head of operations for the Los Angeles division of the Eight Dragon Triad."

Bui's head lolled on his shoulders; he gave out an inarticulate moan. Tied to a chair with strips of wire cable, he slumped inert, his pupils dilated and his mouth slack. Wo put a hand under his chin and raised his face. Bruised and cut, it was purple and swollen almost beyond recognition. Saliva ran down Bui's cheek and he let out another moan.

"I see our guest is not able to speak, but that is of little moment. Wo, where are Manichetti and Macapang? I expected them back an hour ago."

"I don't know, sir. I'll have to go outside to use my cell phone…"

"No, not now." 426 shook his head. "Perhaps they are trying to call us—this garage leaves something to be desired as a headquarters."

"Yeh can say that again," came a growling voice behind them, accompanied by the creak of a wheelchair and the whirr of its electric motor. "Wo, dammit, I need me dose!" O'Toole glared up at them, his face grey and sweating. "Just give me the damn morphine, an' I'll fix me own shots! I'm near done for!" His fresh bullet wounds had been bandaged and his left arm was in a sling.

"Give him half a dozen ampules," said 426 with a sigh. "Apparently he's becoming resistant to the drugs." Wo went to a small safe and opened it with a few twirls of the dial; it held a few wads of greenbacks, stacks of documents and several boxes with pharmaceutical labels. O'Toole grabbed his drugs and wheeled out, an avid smile on his face.

426 turned to the tall man. "213, you may call your soldiers into the room. This meeting concerns them. Is another carload coming?" He looked out the door at the group of men.

"Uh…no, sir. This is all."

"You have brought all of your men to San Francisco with you?"

"Yes, sir," replied 213. His left eyelid had a nervous tic. "All of the men who answered the summons, that is. We have had a few…desertions. Not among the numbers, of course, but the rank and file are not enthusiastic about this operation."

426 shook his head with a smile. "Why? Are they actually afraid of the FBI?"

"Um…yes, sir." 213 and Wo exchanged glances. "The FBI may have its inefficiencies, but we shouldn't underestimate their—"

"The Special Agent in Charge of the San Francisco field office has given orders that no overt action be taken while we hold our hostages. The FBI has neutralized itself." 426 laughed, a sound that seemed to strike everyone in the room as peculiar. Wo took a step backwards. Even the battered Bui blinked in surprise. 213 swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing in his long throat.

"We captured their agents with ease, and we have sent a powerful warning. This was entirely to my taste." 426 smiled down at the bedsprings and wires, still chuckling, and rubbed the fingertips of one hand together. "I admit that my stroke of luck has elevated my mood, but what is there to fear? We hold our strongest position in years."

"We mean to abandon the United States," said 213, his facial tic increasing. "We've gathered all our cash and we're going to scuttle off to Taiwan! What kind of strength is that? Sir—"

"213," said 426 with exaggerated patience. "I will overlook your lack of faith. We must make our strength known before we depart, because we will return. Very soon. This is a temporary setback; that is all."

"But…" 213 ventured. "So many of the Northern California troops are in jail. Or in the hospital." He shifted from foot to foot. "Is it true that twelve were disabled in one street fight? And that we took a dozen more casualties during the incident with the bounty hunter?"

"That was due to the man known as Bean Bandit. A pair of unfortunate incidents, yes, but they will not be repeated. Bandit is dead. He died last night on an operating table, and Wo has seen the death certificate. I myself slashed Bandit's throat." 426 made a graceful gesture with his left hand, turning it out and palm up with the fingers outstretched and spread like multiple blades. "I have propitated his ghost, and I'm still burning incense, as you see. He will trouble us no more."

"Ah. And his associate, the bounty hunter?"

"Before two days have passed, she will reside with Bandit in the grave. The hostages I have—Brown's daughter, Ms. Vincent's partner May Hopkins and this FBI agent—guarantee that. I'll outline the plan now, to all the men."

"I see." 213's expression slightly brightened. "I'll call them in." He stepped to the door of the storage closet and beckoned; all the men filed in. When they had arranged themselves against the walls of the room, 426 stepped to the center of the group.

"I am prepared," said 426, "to offer a substantial bonus to every one of you. Your loyalty is an example to the rest of the Triad. Loyalty is the highest virtue of our way of life. However, I don't intend that virtue shall be its own sole reward." He leaned forward. "Each of you soldiers will receive one hundred thousand dollars in cash, tonight." The men smiled, their faces immediately relaxing, but some still looked skeptical. "The money is here in San Francisco, in a safe place, and I have sent a courier. Your rewards will arrive shortly, and will increase once my objectives are met. If any of you should not survive the operation, I will pay two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to his family."

"What about us?" said 51.

"Numbered Triads will be compensated according to their rank," said 426. "I have unlimited resources at my command, and I will be generous."

"Thank you, sir!" said 213, bowing. 426 returned the bow.

"I will now outline the plan. I intend to capture the bounty hunter, obtain all the information she possesses, and use her to destroy Larry Sam's credibility. Stopping his testimony is crucial if we are to rebuild the Triad. We have her partner, and we have Brown's child. This is sufficient to force Ms. Vincent to give herself up to us, and to carry out my orders in respect to Larry Sam—"

A knock sounded on a door outside, and Wo left the room.

"Pardon the interruption. That will be my courier." 426 turned to the door as Wo brought in Madame Lum, her square face pink with indignation. "Lum Huangling? What is the matter?"

"Ohh!" she gasped in Cantonese. "Oh, Red Pole! That Hopkins girl—she's a demon! The little bitch has escaped!"

"Escaped?" 426 looked at the Vietnamese and guided Madame Lum out of the room, Wo moving to the open door of the storage closet and keeping watch on 213 and the soldiers. She seized 426 by the lapels and half-shrieked into his face.

"She slipped out of the Pink Pearl after servicing a customer! I've only just discovered it—the girl I left in charge was knocked unconscious! Hopkins did it! And she's killed your man Macapang, and she's taken Brown's daughter with her!"

"By herself?" 426 removed the woman's hands from his coat with a faint expression of distaste.

"Manichetti was there! He must have helped her! I can't get much of a story out of Pai Li—she's not very coherent."

"Where are the tapes from your security cameras? Identify who came into the building!"

"I…I didn't think of it," stammered Madame Lum.

"Go! Bring the tapes to me!" 426 pointed at the pedestrian door, and Madame Lum ran out at a fast waddle. Wo followed her, but backed into the garage again when someone else came huffing to the door. It was a middle-aged Chinese, his face sweating.

"Sir!" he gasped. "Sir! The boat—"

"What?" said 426, moving towards the newcomer.

"The boat…has been stolen!" 426 was silent, and the courier stumbled on. "The guards were overpowered! I found them lying on the docks and floating in the harbor—only one was conscious. All he could tell me—"

"Who?" said 426, barely audible.

"Some person attacked them. One man only! The guard didn't know him—a tall man with black hair. He untied the boat and drove it away. Out into the bay! It's gone!"

"Who could have done this? Who could have KNOWN?" chattered Wo in a horrified whisper.

"Manichetti knew the location," said 426, his face stiff. "He knew how much treasure was on board."

"But he couldn't have defeated the guards singlehanded!" Wo protested. "He couldn't defeat a ten-year-old child!"

"No, he couldn't have. It must have been someone else—someone he told, or who forced the information from him. Still, who?" The assassin's eyes darted back and forth.

"A tall man with black hair…?" asked Wo. "Not an Asian?"

"The guard wasn't sure in the dark." The courier shook his head. "He might have been an Asian. He had sunglasses over his eyes—"

"What's going on here?" demanded 213, striding up to the group. "What's happened? Red Pole, if you don't give them the money soon, I can't answer for my—"

426 darted a look at him, his lips curling in a snarl. "Money? The money is gone."

"Sir—" said Wo.

"What is the use?" said 426. "I can't lie about this. I don't have the cash any longer, and I can't conjure it out of nothing. I have ten thousand dollars in my safe, and that is all. But this is the Eight Dragon Triad still, and the loyalty of its members will prevail over the weak and corrupt Americans. It must." He put his hands on 213's shoulders, looking up into his face. "My friend, tell your men that their rewards must be deferred. I'm sure we'll recover the boat…" His eyes narrowed as 213's expression went cold.

"I don't think they're going to stay around if they're not paid. I can't lie about that either, sir." Apparently sensing the change in the atmosphere, the Dragons all came out of the room in a ragged group. O'Toole creaked after them with a curious air. For a few moments, they whispered among themselves, then 51 came forward.

"Is the money here?"

"No," said 426. "The money is not here; it has been stolen."

"What?" spat the junior Triad.

"I need your help to reclaim it. I will double the rewards—two hundred thousand dollars for each solder, and half a million each for you and 42. Is that acceptable?" 426 seemed to make the offer with an effort in the face of 51's angry, skeptical manner. "We must move quickly to recover the boat." The Vietnamese circled them.

"Yeah? How about the hostages? Wasn't the old broad in charge of them? She didn't look too happy."

"We still have the FBI agent."

"But not the girls?"

"Not the females, no." 426 gritted his teeth; his face twitched, but he kept control of himself. "They have escaped."

"Oh, fuck me," said 42. The Vietnamese looked disgusted.

"Nevertheless, the Triad needs your help. Will you accept my offer?"

"I don't think so," said 51, and 42 nodded in agreement. "Double nothing is still nothing. The cupboard just got a little too bare."

"51!" shouted 213. "You will not offer such insolence to Red Pole 426!"

"Why the fuck are we supposed to take all the risk?" said 51. "Huh? You high numbers sit on your asses and peck away on keyboards while we all get shot and knifed and arrested for disappearing money? Nu-uh. Not for this Chinese boy. Stuff it, and stuff your damn Triad. I can get better work any damn day on a street corner in Hollywood." Beckoning to the others, he went to one of the cars and got in. 42 and the Vietnamese followed, accompanied by the courier. All of the soldiers piled in and slammed the car doors; the engines started.

426's mouth worked; he fixed his eyes on 213. The door raised and the cars drove out of the garage. 213 looked sick and slowly closed his eyes.

"I'll do it for yeh, sir," put in O'Toole. "I got me .45 right here."

"Thank you, but no," said 426. "Wo, fetch me my garrote." He reached into his coat and took out a pair of black leather gloves. O'Toole grinned as Wo brought the length of wire wound around its handles. 213 knelt and put his hands on his thighs.

When 213's black-faced body slumped to the floor, 426 had a faraway expression. "Dispose of him, Wo," he said absently, dropped the garrote, and headed to his desk.

Wo sighed and went to get his car. O'Toole sniggered and creaked off to a dark corner with his morphine.

426 reached into his coat and brought out three bronze coins, weighing them on his palm. Wo struggled with the body and loaded it into the trunk of his car. The garage door clanged open and shut again; 426 began to throw the I Ching once more, carefully noting the results.

* * *

About an hour later, Madame Lum returned to the garage with a single videotape in her hand. She shuffled through the pedestrian door, her square jaw sagging and her broad body looking deflated. A strand of hair had escaped from her tight bun and straggled across her sweaty face.

"Lum Huangling?" said 426 from his desk, fingers steepled against his forehead. "Have you discovered who helped the females to escape?" He raised his face when she didn't reply. "One tape only? You have cameras in every room and corridor. Why have you not brought the records from all of them?"

"S-someone destroyed most of our surveillance camera tapes," stammered Madame Lum. "Whoever it was got into the security room and smashed everything! But the camera in the lobby holds its tape inside it—that's the only one that survived." She held the videocassette out to 426. "I looked at the tape."

"And?" said 426 with gentle weariness.

"I know most of the clients who appear on it. But one…he almost seems familiar, but the picture isn't very clear, and I'm not sure who he is. I thought perhaps you might…" The garage door went up, and Wo drove down the ramp and parked.

"Where have you been, Wo?" said 426. "Surely it didn't take that long to dump the body."

"N-no, sir. I went to the hospital again. San Francisco General…where Bandit was taken. I had a thought…" He shook his head. "I don't know. It was a long shot."

"Hm. Will you play this tape for me?" 426 gestured to Madame Lum, and Wo took the tape and rummaged in the pile of cardboard boxes. He quickly found a small VCR, plugged it into the power strip and set it up with 426's computer, turning on the monitor. Inserting the tape, he fiddled with the brightness controls for a moment, then stood back.

The tape started, showing a high-angled shot of a gaudily-furnished lobby. Men in suits and women in various states of undress passed back and forth under the camera. "Where is this man you think you recognize?" said 426 to Madame Lum. "Wo, what is this long shot?"

"Well, it was about Bandit's death—" Wo began.

"He'll come on screen in a moment," said Madame Lum. "I watched it three times, trying to recall who he is." On the screen, a large, dark shadow emerged and moved across the lobby—a man in a long leather coat, his hair slicked against his skull. He paused with his back to the camera as he spoke to Pai Li, then followed her when she smiled and beckoned.

"I asked about Bandit at the hospital," said Wo. "I wanted to know if the death certificate was on file with the county yet, but there was a problem—"

"The death certificate?" said 426. "What did they say about Bandit's death certificate?"

A long jaw came into view as the man turned, and a pair of amber-tinted aviator-framed glasses. The man didn't face the camera, so only his jaw and one of his cheekbones was visible. As he passed, he gave an awkward tug to his collar, as if he didn't usually wear a necktie and wasn't comfortable. On the left side of his throat lines of big black stitches showed plainly. Madame Lum reached out to press the freeze-frame.

"The records have been sealed and can't be released to the public," continued Wo. "The clerk didn't know why, but said that it might be done in a case where there was a legal question over the cause of death or the person's identity."

426 shrugged. "I have no doubt that Bandit used false identities."

"Yes, but there was gossip in the emergency room—"

"That man there," said Madame Lum, jabbing a finger at the screen. "I know I've seen him before, but I'm not sure where. He was Hopkins' customer, so he must have had something to do with…" She trailed off, staring at 426.

"About a patient who revived after being pronounced dead," said Wo. "Two nurses were talking about a strange case. I thought about it for a while, and I had an idea. The description of the man who stole the boat sounded a little like—"

He broke off as well. Both of them watched 426 in consternation as his eyes stayed fixed on the computer screen.

His eyes went blank, the pupils dilating. Behind the tan color of his skin, the blood drained away. For the space of several breaths he didn't blink. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and put his hands over them for a moment. "No. Impossible."

"Sir?"

426 swayed and Wo caught him under the arms. "Sir! Are you well?"

"Guang Si," whispered 426, his eyes scanning above him. He looked up at the concrete ceiling of the underground garage as if it were the roof of a mausoleum.

"What?" said Wo. Madame Lum put a hand over her mouth and went pale.

"No." 426 flung up a hand as if to wave the word away. "He was pronounced dead. He is dead. Impossible."

"But I heard a rumor about a revived patient," Wo persisted.

"Who did they say it was?"

"Um…an FBI agent, I think."

"Then it is not he," said 426 patiently. "Impossible."

Wo creased his brow and shook his head. "Bandit's death certificate is sealed. The thief was tall and black-haired. So is the man on this tape." He shrugged. "It was only a thought, sir."

426 was barely listening, shaking his head. "Impossible." He looked back at the image on the screen. It wavered and flickered, the black stitches on the throat moving like tiny snakes. "The dead do not come back to life. They do not seek revenge on their murderers."

"Uh…no, sir. Of course not." Wo drew back with an incredulous expression.

"Guang Si?" muttered Madame Lum. "The walking dead…" She swallowed hard. "Red Pole? What should I…?"

"Go, go." 426 absently waved in her direction. "There is nothing more for you to do here. You have lost a valuable thing I placed in your charge."

"I…I apologize, Red Pole," said Madame Lum, her teeth chattering.

"What did I expect? You are a woman." He rose and turned his back on her. "Weak, deluded. Easily fooled. Go." Madame Lum wrapped her coat tightly around herself and scuttled out, her face working with fear. "I am not concerned with women."

"No, sir," said Wo. "But…the bounty hunter…?"

"Ah, yes. The bounty hunter." 426 held up a finger as if lecturing himself. "A woman, yes, and an Asian-white mongrel to boot. But not to be underestimated. She recruited Sam."

"Have you decided what to do about Sam, sir? He has already given the FBI a great deal of information about the Triad."

"He has. My original plan is no longer in reach. I cannot use the hostages to force the bounty hunter to assassinate or discredit Sam. Therefore…" He trailed off, examining his hands. "Lawrence Sam. He has a Chinese personal name…he does not use it. He is an American in his mind. But a Chinese in blood and bone and flesh. A Chinese…and he refused to join the brotherhood. He rejected my regard for him."

"Your regard for him, sir?"

426's lips tightened for a moment. "I had him once, you know. One night of comfort among so many lonely hours." He stroked his palms together with a meditative air. "One night…or was it my imagination? I dreamed of him sometimes. I still do." He let out a small sigh and parted his hands. "I will rest now. I need sleep. Wo, prepare me a bed."

"Yes, sir." Wo guided 426 to a chair. He sat down and stared at a small wooden altar on the table in front of him.

Above it hung a painting on silk, a small scroll of a multi-armed, yellow-tusked demon surrounded by a halo of flame and curling smoke. The demon's eyes were wide and rolling, its face gnarled and its hair flying. Around its huge red form human beings writhed and screamed in the flames. Below them stylized ocean waves underscored the scene, lapping at the demon's feet as he danced in horrific jubilation.

426 studied the painting, his lips moving slightly. Wo took a step towards the pile of packing boxes and 426 seized his wrist with a quick motion, like a snake striking.

"Excuse me for a moment, sir. I need to make up your cot."

"You won't leave me?" 426 still stared at the demon on the scroll.

"No, sir." Wo turned to go, but 426 rose and slid an arm around his waist.

"Stay with me a little while. You are loyal?"

"I am loyal, sir," said Wo, his face betraying unease.

"Your work has been very impressive. I will present you for full membership at the next council. Your parents will be proud of you."

"My parents are dead, sir."

"Eh?" said 426 in surprise. "They live in Honolulu, don't they?"

Wo looked even more uneasy. "Uh…sir, I believe you are thinking of Henry Huang."

"Huang?"

"Huang is dead, sir. The bounty hunter shot him on the night of the fire."

426 blinked at Wo a few times, then sighed. "Yes, you are right. I arranged for his body to be flown to Hawaii. His parents will bury him appropriately."

"Yes, sir." Again Wo tried to move away, and again 426 held him.

"Give me comfort, Wo. You are a Triad—you are of the brotherhood. Give me comfort…" 426 clamped his hands around Wo's elbows. The young man's face twisted in horror and disgust, though he tried to suppress the expression.

"Please, sir, let me go!" His body gave a violent twitch.

"You are the only one I have left, my darling boy. Don't reject me." 426 leaned forward and tried to kiss Wo on the lips.

"Sir!" He twisted his face away. "I'm not—I can't—"

"You told me you wouldn't leave me." He kept hold of Wo with one hand. "You told me you were loyal." With the other hand, he reached for the zipper of his pants. Wo gave him a panicked shove and broke the hold; 426 stumbled and sat down hard on the concrete.

Wo turned grey, his hands extended in claws, and remained frozen where he was. 426 raised his head and looked at him unmoving. His expression was blank rather than malicious, but Wo let out a high soft wail and took a step backwards. Still 426 did nothing, though he kept his eyes locked to Wo's. The young man took another step backwards, and another.

"Excuse me, sir…I—I must leave you now."

Face expressionless, 426 watched Wo scramble to the nearest car and open the door. His hand moved once towards his shoulder holster, but dropped limp again to his side.

"What th' fock?" said a deep, growling voice behind him. "Ye can't run out on us like that, ye wee bastard!" _KRAK_! spoke a .45. Wo's head jerked forward and he fell into the car, limbs sprawling. Slowly he slid down until his body knelt on the concrete, his head still resting on the seat.

"I did not order his execution," said 426 absently.

"Well, th' little shit's got what he deserved anyhow." O'Toole creaked up in his wheelchair, his eyes glazed from morphine. He replaced his .45 in his sling and wiggled the fingers of his right hand. "Ahh, I still can place a bullet, can't I?"

"Indeed you can." 426 still watched Wo's inert body. His eyes also were glazed and slightly vacant. "Your sole remaining ability, I imagine."

O'Toole snarled at him for a moment, then smiled, his yellow teeth giving him a resemblance to the dancing demon. "An' what the fock else do I need, sir? There's only one thing I've left to do on this earth." Their eyes met. "Kill that nigger bitch an' send 'er to hell where she belongs."

"What else indeed?" 426 rose and turned towards the packing boxes, shedding his suit jacket. "I also have only one objective left, and it is the same." He opened a box and pulled out a set of body armor, then stripped down to undershirt and briefs. A pair of black nylon pants and a windbreaker not unlike O'Toole's combat gear came out of the box next and 426 put them on, changing his dress shoes for lace-up boots with soft rubber soles.

"Gettin' suited up at last, then?"

426 strapped on a bullet-resistant vest and a utility belt. "I am." He checked the load in his black-anodized Sig P229.

"I'd count it an honor to work with ye, sir. Whatever yer plans may be, I'll follow me orders to the letter. I don't care for me life as it is—" O'Toole glanced at his missing left leg—"an' so, use me as ye will. As long as I get me shot, I'll die content."

"Thank you, O'Toole." 426 buckled on a hip holster and snapped the flap over his automatic. "I welcome your help, and I promise you that you will die well. My life also is not worth a straw."

He strode to the door of the utility room and looked in on the captive Agent Bui, still tied to the chair and half unconscious. "Life is nothing. It evaporates so quickly. Death will take us all in the end, and our karma will determine our fate in the next cycle of reincarnation. All we can hope for is to achieve our objectives and pass on with honor."

426 glanced around the empty garage, then turned to O'Toole with a grave, philosophical smile, which clashed oddly with the faraway expression in his eyes. "Still, I am glad…that I am not alone."

* * *

Rally half woke and fumbled for the phone, realizing it was ringing. 4 A.M.? Something like that. She clicked it on. "Uhh? Rally Vincent here."

"It's Pete," said Smith's voice. "I am not going to apologize for waking you up. Larry Sam."

"What?"

"Larry Sam has been kidnapped."

Rally came fully awake, throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed. "Larry's been kidnapped?"

"Right out of the hospital. I've got another dead agent, and one's fighting to hang on. Got a description. It was 426 himself." Smith let out a long, sibilant breath.

"H-hospital? Dead? 426?" She pushed her hair out of her eyes and scanned the room, her mind racing.

"They kept Sam there for observation because of that bullet he took to the vest this afternoon. Four agents were guarding him. Two have broken bones, one's dead, and one's pretty damn close to it." Smith's voice quivered with fury, his intensity and volume steadily rising. "Back down, huh? Give 'em breathing room, huh? I follow orders. I do what I'm told because I work for Uncle Sam and I'm a loyal agent of the FBI and have been for twenty-seven years. And that son of a bitch has murdered MY PEOPLE."

"Pete…I'm so sorry." She scrambled into her clothes, wedging the phone between ear and shoulder. "I can't tell you how sorry—"

"I don't want sorry. I want 426's ass. On a spit."

"Consider it done. Medium rare with a side of fries." Rally stuck her feet into her shoes. "I wonder how May's grenade supply is…"

"Come to the Federal Building with her and I'll give you all the shit you need. Armor, ordnance, explosives. U.S. Special Forces issue—the good shit. This is on my personal authority. I don't care if it's against direct orders—what are they going to do, fire me?" Smith gave a caustic laugh.

"I'll go wake everyone up." Rally reached for her CZ75.


	21. Chapter 21

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty-One**

"Ohh…oooh," moaned May. "Oh, my God…Kenny, I think I'm going to have an org—"

"Not NOW!" hissed Rally, her cheeks flaming. "There are FBI agents watching!"

"But, Rally!" protested May. "How can I help it? It's so…so…" She gestured at the walls of the Federal Building's armory. Boxes of ammunition, racks of grenades, piles of folded body armor and trays of fuses and detonators crowded every shelf. Smith gave her a strange look as Roy followed him into the armory. "So many beautiful explosives! And the sexy smell…" She fell gracefully backwards into Ken's arms. "Oooh, Kenny, I'm so WET! Feel how hard my nipples—"

"Please don't!" begged Rally, for Ken's face looked flushed and avid as he cradled May and cast his eyes over the shelves. "We're only in here to pick out some stuff!" She turned and spied a Heckler and Koch 11A1 light machine gun in an open cabinet. "Oh, look at THAT!"

Dashing across the room, she seized it in her arms as if it were a long-lost child. "You little darling! Mama has one just like you at home!" She planted a smooch on the stock and rummaged through the cabinet. "Do you have any brothers and sisters in here with you? How about a cousin? I just adore your whole family…"

"She always talk to her guns?" said Smith aside to Roy.

"'Fraid so," said Roy with a sigh.

"And, uh…what's up with Miss May?"

Both of them watched her run her hands along the shelves and grab various items, fondling the grenades with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Every few seconds, she let out a sensual little squeak and wriggled her body.

"I gather she enjoys her equipment."

"You really don't want to know…"

"I think you may be right about that." Smith shook his head. "You want to check out the HK11?" he asked Rally.

"Oh, could I? I mean, I don't know if it's actually going to come in handy, but it's so cute!"

"That looks like an assault rifle," said Roy. "I thought you had one already."

"My SIG! I wouldn't change that for anything, but this is a real machine gun! See, it's got the quick-change barrel and the belt feed instead of a box magazine. It's based on the G3 assault rifle."

"You don't say," said Roy, rolling his eyes.

"Heckler and Koch do a lot of modular design, so there's a whole family—this is the coolest one in the lineup, I think! It's more accurate than the HK21 military version, since it was made for police use."

"Yeah," said Smith, grinning. "The GSC9 anti-terrorist unit in Germany uses that baby. It's the machine-gun equivalent of a sniper rifle. You got good taste, Miss Rally."

"Naturally I do! I'm so happy to find one here!"

"Planning on mowing down a few phalanxes of Dragons? I don't think there are that many of 'em left on the streets."

"No, it sounds like we're down to 426 and maybe one or two lieutenants." Rally peered down the barrel of the HK11. "But he's damn hard to hit. We are going to have to approach him as if he were a whole squad, not one man."

"You got a point there. That baby is at your disposal."

"Thank you! I'll have to sight this in," said Rally. "Where do you keep the 7.62 belts?"

"Right here." Smith unlocked a cabinet and hefted an ammo case. "I'm taking you down to the firing range myself, because I need to talk to you."

"While I'm sighting in a machine gun? It's bound to be noisy!"

"It's important." Smith looked uncharacteristically sober. Roy's expression darkened. "It's about a mutual acquaintance of ours."

She flicked her gaze to theirs. "Oh."

* * *

"Bean Bandit, huh?" BRAAAAAP! Rally squeezed the trigger a little harder than necessary and blasted twenty rounds through the target in a heartbeat.

"That's right." Smith cupped his ear protectors around his head and stood off to the side with Roy to avoid flying pieces of the disintegrating ammo belt. "Is there any chance that Bean may show again? We sure could use him right about now."

"I suppose we could." Rally fired off another burst to finish off the hundred-round belt. Her well-punctured target tore in half and fell to the floor. Roy's face twitched; she could imagine that he hoped to see Bean in a similar state someday.

"Come on, girl, you can tell me where he is. You know I won't arrest him. I'd be grateful—"

"So would I, Pete." Rally folded back the bipod stand and laid the gun down to change barrels. "He is the best at what he does. Of course…so am I."

"Sure you are." Smith made a half-apologetic smile and put up his hands. "I'm not saying we're screwed without the Roadbuster—hell, this _is_ the FBI. What I meant is, in these peculiar circumstances—"

"Do you know how to find out where he is?" said Roy with the suggestion of a growl.

"Other than calling him up and saying, 'Hey, Bean, mind filling me in on your plans?' No, I don't," said Rally with emphasis. "That is the truth. I don't have the right contacts in the Bay Area, and the local information brokers wouldn't necessarily be tracking an out-of-towner…though Bean's made himself pretty conspicuous out here. In any case, there's probably no information to buy."

"Then you don't know if he's going to show?" prompted Smith.

"I really doubt it."

"Why is that?"

She paused with the spare barrel in hand. "He's finished here. There's nothing more for him to do in San Francisco..."

Roy pulled down his ear protectors. "Bean's heading home to Chicago. No doubt about it. He's my problem again, not yours."

"You know that for sure?" Smith glanced from one to the other.

"Well…I can deduce it." Rally fiddled with a bit of belt metal.

Roy nodded in grim agreement. "He's not interested in helping her or the FBI. He's a mercenary, and there's no profit in it for him. Certainly he doesn't have any personal interests at stake."

Smith's eyes narrowed. "You can deduce it from what?" he said to Rally.

"That's just the way he is, Pete." Rally flipped the bit of metal into the air and let it fall to the floor. "He doesn't hang around unless there's a job to do. He doesn't know that Wesson isn't on the case any more, so he probably thinks the FBI is still after him."

"Not to mention," Roy put in, "the whole San Francisco PD wants to roast his hide."

Smith snickered. "And he's aiming straight back into the welcoming arms of the Chicago PD? What would that tend to tell you about his opinion of Cook County law enforcement, Detective Coleman?"

Roy showed his teeth and clenched his fists. For a moment, Rally was sure he meant to sock Smith in the jaw, but he folded his arms and only stared at him. "Maybe it's got more to do with his opinion of how well the San Francisco FBI office is going to brief their counterparts in Chicago," he shot back. "I hear there's special information on the Roadbuster that you and Wesson never showed anyone else! Maybe because of its dubious source?"

Rally jumped. Did he mean Brown's dossier on Bean? What else could he mean?

"Well now, where did you happen to hear that?" said Smith softly.

"I've been hanging out in this stinking Federal Building for what feels like half my goddamn life! Word gets around…even to a plainclothes Chicago cop. You people have some pretty damn specific info about Bean's origins and operations! Were you ever planning to share that with the rank and file on the street?"

"I gave you some info," said Smith defensively. Obviously Roy had deduced the existence of the black folder just as she had.

"Yeah, that he was half Japanese! What the hell do I care about that?" Roy began to turn red around the temples. "You have a big file folder on the man, you have all the dope on his connections and his family—did it ever occur to you that _ordinary cops_ could take the bastard off the streets with that information?"

Smith spread his hands. "Now hold on just a moment. I don't have a big file folder on Bean. You want to search my desk? It's not there."

Of course it wasn't there—May had stolen it! Smith was telling the literal truth as far as that went. Rally rolled her eyes.

"What, Wesson filed it? Don't chop logic with me, you son of a—"

Rally stepped between them. "Boys, boys! I thought we were after 426 and the hostages?" She pointed at Smith. "Forget about Bean. I have, and I'm sure he's done the same for me. He's not showing up to help, and that's all I've got to say."

Roy let out a hiss and turned to the door, obviously still too angry to continue the discussion. Rally looked after him, unsure what to do. Roy was her friend, but the subject of Bean set him off like white phosphorus meeting oxygen. Should she follow him and try to get to the bottom of this?

Smith scowled. "Wasn't Bean shadowing you around town after he got back from Vegas, Miss Rally? Because 426 allegedly wanted _your_ hide, and is an expert at killing people in painfully creative ways?"

"So Bean said. That was before I almost…got him killed." To her dismay her voice wobbled.

Roy stopped where he was.

"You putting that one on your own shoulders?" said Smith. "Sounds to me like Bean brought it on himself."

"What?"

"What kind of idiot would jump into 426's car with a dislocated shoulder, outnumbered three to one?" Smith drew a finger in a slash below his chin. "Bean knew what a wizard that man is at hand-to-hand combat. Naturally he ended up with a cut throat! It was his own damn fault!"

Rally glared at Smith, real anger welling up. "Bean was trying to rescue Tiffany! Of course he'd do everything possible!"

"Why?"

"Because he'd promised me that he'd fulfill the job, and he always protects children!"

"Children? Even the daughter of his worst enemy? All he ever _agreed_ to was driving the rescue car. Remember, I was there."

"What's your damn point?" said Roy. "You're not trying to claim that Bandit—"

Smith gave a harsh smile. "According to everything I know—from a variety of sources—Bean has always fulfilled his obligations to the letter. No less…and no more. He doesn't give freebies, he's not a bodyguard, and even if he does like to protect kids, he's never before risked his life that way to do so."

"Well, adrenaline can do—" Rally began.

"You told me he didn't quit until he was stuck full of holes, bleeding to death, and with 426 threatening to blind the kid on the spot! Bean is a cool head, and he doesn't get carried away even in the middle of a hot fight. He calculates his angles and he always leaves an escape route. As you've both been telling me, he's interested only in his own survival and profit. The man is a professional to the bone marrow. Right?" Smith raised his brows and looked directly at Rally.

"Uh, well…"

"Except where you are concerned, Miss Rally." His intense expression suddenly gave way to something resembling sympathy. "Look, I'm not trying to trick some admission out of you the way Brown did. I apologize if I started sounding like that son of a bitch just now. But either Bean decided he wanted to do Sly a great big favor all of a sudden, or he just couldn't bear to let Rally Vincent down. Now be honest with me, girl. What sounds more plausible to you?"

"Shit," said Roy.

Rally's lips threatened to quiver, so she clamped them tightly. "I…I just don't want to get anyone's hopes up."

"Whose hopes?" Smith pressed her. "Yours?"

"What about the money Bean stole from you?" said Roy suddenly, as if he had just stumbled on a gold mine. "There's an obligation he hasn't taken care of yet! If it does turn out that he's still in the city, that has to be the reason why!"

"The suitcase with the five hundred grand?" Smith put his hands in his pants pockets and nodded. "He owes Miss Rally a quarter mil, according to her agreement to split the dough fifty-fifty. Then it's even more likely he'd stick around until the money's paid off! That's a real man's way."

"The money," said Rally, her heart suddenly plummeting. Yes, she had allowed her hopes to rise. Every moment she changed her opinion of Bean, bad memories and new developments swirling in her head like blood mixing with clean water. He was a jerk, he was a hero. He was a foul-mouthed braggart, he was a passionate lover. He was a low-class criminal, he was a—

"Real man?" muttered Roy. "Ask me about _my_ definition of a 'real man'."

Rally sighed and reached into her jacket. "Bean gave me this during the rescue operation."

"That looks like a key for a safe-deposit box," said Roy.

"It is." Rally held it out between finger and thumb. "He told me that he had put all the money that was left from the five hundred thousand into the Bank of America's vault. I haven't had a chance to pick it up yet." Actually, she had nearly forgotten about it. When she had believed that Bean was dead, the money they had chased for days hadn't seemed important in the least.

"How much was left?" asked Smith.

"About fifty-eight grand." Rally cocked her head and scanned the ceiling, recalling their conversation in the Charger. "Something like that. I think I had it figured it out to the last dollar, but I don't remember the exact amount right now." She checked her watch: 6:30 A.M. "I'll go get the money out of the safe deposit box when the bank opens and bring it back here. The moment he gets the rest of it to me, it's going straight to you. I know the FBI will make good use of it!"

Smith shook his head in mild disgust. "Peanuts. Nickel and dime stuff. That quarter mil isn't going to make me happy at all."

Rally's jaw dropped. "Pete, I worked like crazy to get the FBI that dough! I went through hell! That's what the whole operation was about! What do you mean, it won't make you HAPPY?"

"You know what I want? I want the Dragon treasure." He nodded significantly. "Their whole stash locked away in a government safe would make me very, very happy. Drugs, jewels, gold, securities and cash—a real stack. I estimate that at a cool fifty mil."

"Wow!" Roy's eyes opened wide.

"Well, gee!" Rally snorted. "I wish someone had told me before I knocked myself out that the FBI didn't give a crap about a measly quarter million bucks! Not when there's fifty million for the taking!"

"But I ain't gonna get it." Smith sat down and let out a deflating breath. "Manny told me it was all loaded on a boat that used to belong to Brown. He gave 426 the keys himself. They'll have taken it out of the harbor and met a ship out past the two-hundred mile limit. All that stuff is on its merry way to Macau as we speak."

"So no dice." Rally rolled her eyes.

"No dice. I'm afraid they were too quick for us. That's a lot of Brown's dough, plus the Dragon's cash on hand and everything they had in the vault at their HQ. With that, the Dragons can start afresh anywhere in the world. Without it, they're well and truly screwed. If I could pull in that loot for Uncle Sam, I'd probably get a medal!"

"You'd get a medal? What about _me_?"

"Miss Rally, I'd recommend anyone for a nice fat reward if he could pull in that money somehow. You know, they have a finder's fee for some drug busts, and it only applies to private citizens, not government employees." He winked at her. "You are definitely eligible."

"Oh, _cool_!" Visions of riches temporarily obscured her vision. Roy groaned and shook his head. "But I'd better think about 426 before I think about his money! No point in getting overconfident."

"Sure. You've seen the man fight, which I haven't."

"That was one of the scariest things I have seen in my life." Rally shivered.

"I'd imagine it was. He's got a big reputation among the Triads and it's spread far and wide on the West Coast. Of course, the rumors tend to involve black magic and that kind of crap—" A wall phone rang. "Excuse me—I'm expecting a call from Veterans Hospital." He picked up the phone and turned slightly away to speak. "Smith."

Rally grimaced. "I'm not so sure I'd call it crap," she said to Roy. "He was uncanny." She put a hand on the stock of the HK11. "That's why I picked out this little beauty."

"I hope it does you good."

"So do I. I think he'll be even more dangerous now that he's alone." She glanced at Roy as she changed barrels and fed in a new ammo belt. "He let his lieutenants do all the work when the Dragons had us surrounded on the street. He didn't make a move until they were all inactivated, and then he took us apart. He seemed to be in two places at once and he kept coming up with new attacks. We couldn't get our balance. If he had really wanted to waste us, instead of get away with his hostages, I wouldn't be talking to you now."

"Yeah, I got the dope from Agent Wojohowicz. She seems to be a very capable woman, but she looked like she'd seen a ghost."

"So did I, Roy. So did I."

A shadow passed over Smith's face and he hung up the phone. "Shit."

"What is it, Pete? Was it about the agents that 426 put in the hospital? How are they?" She recalled that one had been killed, two wounded, and one was hanging on to life.

"Yeah." He briefly put a hand over his face. "I talked to one of the two he left alive, and a doctor."

"Two left alive?" Rally felt her heart sink. "Then the agent who was unconscious…?"

"Beretta. He's not quite dead yet, no. But they just told me he's not expected to survive. Internal bleeding—the transfusions can't keep up. He's sinking fast." Smith turned to the door. "I have to go. I'm going to have to talk to his family. Maybe I'll get there in time to—well, you know."

"Wait a minute. Internal bleeding?" Rally's eyes scanned back and forth.

"Yeah. His wounds don't really warrant it—he just has bruises on the torso. But he's bleeding like a goddamn hemophiliac. Some people claim 426 can cause that just by striking in the right places with his martial arts witchcraft mumbo-jumbo."

"You mean a ruptured spleen?" said Roy skeptically. "Can't they operate?"

"No, they opened him up already, but they haven't been able to stop the bleeding. Beretta's in a coma and his vitals are fading." Smith's mouth tightened. "No matter how 426 did it, that's another agent cut down in the line of duty. That makes four of mine that the bastard has probably murdered."

A near-explosion went off in Rally's mind and she almost dropped the gun. "Bean!"

"Huh? Now what about Bean?" said Roy.

"426 poisoned Bean with an anticoagulant! Wouldn't a high dose make someone bleed internally?"

"Yeah, it might." Smith stared at her, the same thought obviously forming in his brain.

"And he's in a coma! Doesn't this sound familiar?"

Smith's eyes opened wide. "But how would he have gotten the poison—oh, holy crap! 426 had a knife, and maybe Beretta got a scratch!"

Rally's mouth opened wide. "Call San Francisco General!" she yelled. "Ask for Doctor Gage!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Smith fumbled out his cell phone and punched buttons. "Gage? G-A-G-E? OK, I met the guy at the hospital!"

Rally dashed for the elevator with him, Roy on her heels. "Yes! He's the one who operated on Bean. I gave him a couple of 426's poisoned throwing stars, and he ordered a toxicology analysis. Maybe he's gotten back some results by now! He was really interested in what made Bean come back to life!"

"Damn!" Smith yelled into the phone, asking a switchboard operator to get him the emergency department at San Francisco General. He hung up and gestured to the door. "My office. Come talk to the docs at Veterans while we wait to get hold of Dr. Gage. Tell them what happened with Bean!"

On Smith's speaker phone with Agent Beretta's doctor, Rally quickly described Bean's apparent death and revival, trying to leave nothing out.

"Yes, the machines all showed flatline…they did CPR and gave him shocks. His blood pressure went to zero and he stopped breathing…" She bit her lips, remembering her grief and fury in the operating room. Smith had been there with her—he knew how deep her feelings had been. Was that why he kept trying to nudge her opinions in a certain direction? As a matter of fact, he had been doing that for quite a while now…

"I've got Dr. Gage on the conference call now," said the doctor. "Let me just confirm some things with him, and I've got a few more questions for you."

"OK, I'll hold." Rally listened as the doctors shot medical terms back and forth for several minutes, her palms sweating. Was this going to do any good?

"Right," said Agent Beretta's doctor. "Got that. Now, Ms. Vincent, how exactly did Mr. Bandit revive?"

"Well…uh, I kissed him." Her cheeks flushed. Smith's eyes widened and Roy looked nauseated. "I talked to him for a while when they left me alone with him, and then I was going to leave, and I kissed him on the mouth. He responded…"

"Yes, she told me that at the time," said Doctor Gage. "I listened and got a faint pulse. We resumed transfusions and oxygen, and the subject was breathing on his own in a few minutes. No sign of brain damage, and he walked out of the hospital on his own later that night. It was as if he had been in suspended animation the whole time. I still don't know exactly what the hell was going on—I said she must be his magical fairy princess or something." Both doctors snorted. "I can fax you the toxicology results right now—I only got them last night, but we have a complete profile on the poison. It's warfarin, with some Chinese herbal ingredients. Weird stuff—probably home brewed."

"We'll call you again if we need more information," said the other doctor. "Thank you very much, Ms. Vincent. I have a patient to save!"

"You're welcome." Rally hung up and let out a deep breath. Smith hid a smile with one hand. Roy looked heartbroken, his face working as he stared out Smith's office window.

"Man, oh man," laughed Smith. "Good work! Keep listening to those instincts, girl! I guess you're the only one in the position to put all the bits and pieces together, since you stayed with Bean through the whole business."

"I suppose I did."

Smith leaned forward and grinned. "And if the docs get into a panic again, I'll send you down there to give Agent Beretta a big ol' smooch!" He cackled and slapped his thigh as Rally blushed. "The fairy princess's kiss brings 'em back to life, huh? Sounds like you've got a little magic of your own, Miss Rally!"

Roy banged the door on his way out of the office.

* * *

"Where is he hiding? The devil only knows. Their former HQ is emptied out and under guard. Not a chance. Every property Brown ever owned is also under surveillance, as are about a dozen warehouses around the Bay Area. We checked the garage that Manichetti told us about—the one where Miss May was held for a while with the kid. Looks like he was there, but he isn't anymore. Someone made a big bonfire of boxes and computers and so on in the middle of the floor, and it's still cooling. Guess he didn't need any of his stuff wherever the hell he was going." Smith threw up his hands and sat back.

"What about the pier?" May fiddled with her new collection of grenades.

"What about it?" snorted Smith. "It's a wreck. Forensics went over it with sticky tape and a microscope. The company the Dragons leased it from got a demolition permit posthaste since it's such a hazard. Their structural engineer said it could collapse into the bay and damage the pilings of the next pier, the owners might be liable, blah blah. I hear the wrecking crews already went to work, so it'll be history in a week or so. Anything else you want to know? Where the hell is Coleman?"

"I don't know." May gave a shrug. "He told me to get my butt out of the armory and get to work. He looked pretty unhappy and he left right away."

"All right, not the pier," said Rally, feeling somewhat unhappy herself. Had she really let Roy down so badly? Bean wasn't around, and he wasn't going to appear again. Was he that much of a hazard in Roy's opinion? He seemed afraid of Bean in a way, his anger taking on an edge of guilt. Had he taken some step to keep them apart that he didn't want Rally to know about? "Maybe we can't track 426 down directly. If I talk to Manichetti again, maybe I can get a clue out of him. He might have heard something while he was with the Dragons."

"He's at your disposal. I've got him in a secure room two floors down."

"A holding cell? Is he formally under arrest?"

"Actually, no." Smith chuckled, obviously in a better mood. Agent Beretta was now out of danger, an antitoxin devised by Dr. Gage flushing the poison from his body. "We have a few rooms here for keeping witnesses safe, short-term. They're just bed and bath like a motel room. Mrs. Brown and her daughter are staying with us too, since we sure don't want 426 to get to them again. We sent a detail over to pick them up from the hotel as soon as we got word that he'd taken Larry Sam."

"That makes sense. Manichetti's being treated as a witness, not a perpetrator?"

Agent Wojohowicz came in with a pile of file folders and put them on Smith's desk, then sat down and began to page through one of them.

Smith pursed his lips. "That's under negotiation still. I assume you're pressing charges over the attempt O'Toole made to kill you and Miss May. Manny was an accessory to that, so there's one count. He worked for Brown. That's seven years' worth of aiding and abetting conspiracy, drug trafficking, extortion, tax evasion and so on. I could pick from a good long list of federal crimes, and several counties in California could pick from another long list. Going back a little further, New York and Jersey could probably pin some stuff on him from when he was with the Gambinos in the '80s."

"Sounds like he could pull a lot of years." May whistled.

"He could, though in my opinion it's more likely that he'll cut a deal and testify instead. He's never been a triggerman, so they may go light on him. Since he hasn't been arrested yet, I don't have to find him a lawyer and file all the goddamn paperwork. He sings like a bird. Why put a cork in him now? I'll get around to the actual arrest if he threatens to run dry." Smith gave a tight smile. "You run along and talk to him. I'm going to cover some other leads with Wojohowicz."

Rally's cell phone rang and she quickly pulled it out. "Rally Vincent here."

"It's Vanessa Sam," said a teary voice.

"Oh! Vanessa, I'm so sorry about what's happened—"

"Oh, man, Larry's family!" whispered May. Wojohowicz looked sympathetic.

"Are you still working with the FBI? My parents wanted to know if you're on the job."

Rally's throat clenched. "Yes, I am. I'm doing everything I know how to do. We'll get him back."

"He's my big brother, Rally." Vanessa fell silent for a few moments, her sobbing breaths audible through the phone. "He…he was talking to me yesterday afternoon, after you saved him from that hit man at the hospital. He told me some things that surprised me…about you." She paused again, seeming to choke back tears. "I probably shouldn't betray his confidences, and I don't want to get into heterosexist assumptions about alpha females—oh, the hell with it. Rally, my brother really cares about you. I mean, big time. He's counting on you."

"Thank you, Vanessa. That means a lot to me."

"So I'll hang up and get out of the way so you can do your job. We believe in you, Rally. Every one of us Sams. We know you're the best at what you do."

Rally felt something cool flow through her as she said goodbye put down the phone. A clean sense of energy and resolve. It was a little strange, though not entirely unfamiliar. When she had been chasing rewards and credit, she had never felt this way. Excited, yes; filled with adrenaline and the joy of combat.

But also a little dirty, a little guilty or morally compromised. Were money and some measure of fame ever worth what it took to get them? When the goal was so far above personal gain, the feeling was equally elevated, something close to transcendent.

She was doing the right thing. She was saving lives and stopping evil acts. This, perhaps, was what she was meant to do. Her destiny. Often she had tried to accomplish similar things; never before had it been so clear to her exactly why they had to be accomplished.

Could Bean have also felt this way, just before the knives had met his flesh?

* * *

Manichetti proved to be more than cooperative—he seemed friendly and jovial, often cracking a smile. In the situation, Rally wondered at his happiness. 426 was still on the loose! Two men were hostages and in mortal danger! Every minute counted—the sooner they got some leads, the better were the chances of survival for Larry Sam and Agent Bui.

Manichetti couldn't give them much more information about 426's possible lairs, however. Freely admitting his ignorance, he told her he wished he could help.

"I'd love to see that bastard put away, Ms. Vincent. He might've killed the girls."

"Yes, that's exactly what he was going to do." Rally drank the remains of her third cup of coffee. It was 8 A.M., she had been up since 4 A.M., and she still hadn't had breakfast. Food seemed unimportant right now, and her stomach felt tied in knots—of course, three cups of coffee with two sugars each might have had something to do with that. "OK, I believe you. You'd tell us if you knew."

"I'd shoot him myself, and I ain't no gunsel." Manichetti's eyes darkened and slid away from hers. "Yeah, I guess I could do that," he said almost to himself. He ran a beefy hand over his unshaven chin.

"Because 426 threatened Tiffany, huh?" Rally watched him carefully; she had some suspicions about Manichetti. Before she put all her trust in his word, she would like to have those suspicions cleared up.

"Sure, and Sarah too. I, uh, I guess you know about that."

"Agent Smith said you and she had been having an affair for a while," May remarked. "Just how long…?"

Manichetti blushed and looked down. "A while, yeah. She married Mr. Brown six years ago. I, uh, kind of fell in love with her the first time I saw her. But I didn't say nothing to her or anybody. I wasn't that dumb."

"Yeah?" Rally wondered for a moment if he would have any insight into a man's motives for keeping quiet about his attachment to a woman. "But you obviously got around to it sooner or later."

"You know what?" Manichetti smiled at his thick fingers. "She said it to me first."

"Oh, really," said Rally dubiously. May pursed her lips, obviously trying not to laugh.

"Mr. Brown was always going out of town, or out of the country, and he didn't generally take Sarah along. He'd leave me in charge of her all the time, like keeping an eye on her and driving her everywhere she went. I tried to be a gentleman to her. He didn't treat her good, you know? I'd hear him screamin' at her even though I was at the back of the house. I never thought that was right, you know, to yell at a woman that way or hit her. It ain't the manly thing, in my personal opinion."

"Make love, not war," said May, nodding in approval. "I guess I can see why she thought you were a better deal than her husband was. So when the baby came along, did he ever realize that she wasn't his?"

Manichetti jumped out of his chair and halfway across the room. "Mother of God! H-how'd you know that?"

Rally gasped. "Tiffany is HIS daughter? Not Brown's? How DID you know that?"

"Oh, it stuck out like a sore thumb once it occurred to me!" May giggledin triumph. "I got to know the kid while we were held together at the Pink Pearl. Manny was so concerned about her welfare that I got an inkling, and then I started paying attention! She's got her daddy's big brown eyes, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, she does." Manichetti grinned shamefacedly and shambled back to his chair. "Lucky she got the rest from her pretty mama."

"Aw, how sweet." May patted him on the arm. "You were taking care of your own little girl all along!"

"Yeah. Thank God Mr. Brown never figured it out."

"What would he have done to you?" Rally's skin prickled. "Killed you all?"

"Not himself," murmured Manichetti. "He had people for that kind of job. Like Tom O'Toole. I figure he'd have told Tom to cut off my balls and feed 'em to—"

"Never mind!" Rally held up her hands. "Damn, what's happened to _him_? The last time I saw him, he was trying to kill me and Larry at the hospital. I was surprised as hell to see him alive!"

"Your guess is good as mine, Miss. If Tom ain't dead, he could be anywhere."

"Did you ever see the mark 426 burned on his chest?"

"A mark on his chest? No, I didn't." Manichetti looked at her. "426 burned him?"

"I was told that it was a Chinese character meaning 'retribution'. This would have happened before you hooked up with him after Brown's escape. I saw it during the attempt he made to kill me and May…the one you helped with."

"Oh." Manichetti blushed.

"Is there any way he could still be with 426?" mused Rally. "If he was being supplied with drugs to keep him on his feet…or at least keep him going, considering that he's lost a leg, he might still be useful." She looked at May. "That would mean that 426 isn't entirely on his own."

"Useful how?" said May skeptically.

"Well…maybe not by now!" Rally laughed. "He's so full of holes he must be leaking like a government sting! How much ammo have I wasted on that one guy?"

"Plenty, I guess." Manichetti looked a little pale. "You busted his jaw and tore him up some—he was yelling even with the morphine. Tom ain't so good about pain."

Rally glanced at him, her laughter subsiding. "Uh…whatever." For a moment she thought about the suffering O'Toole must have endured since she had first shot him, but she pushed the thought away. He deserved every moment of pain he got! "Well, OK, I guess that's all we need from you now. Thanks." She pushed her chair back and got up.

"I'll buzz the guard to let us out." May reached for the intercom button by the door. "Hi! We're done!"

"So you heard from Bandit yet?" asked Manichetti.

"What do you mean, yet?" Rally gave an irritated shrug. "He's gone back home by now."

Manichetti grinned at her, his good mood resurfacing. "Oh, yeah? I bet he's waiting around for—"

"STOP IT!" yelled Rally, making May jump. "Will everyone just STOP IT RIGHT NOW! Bean is NOT GOING TO HANG OUT IN FRISCO TO KEEP AN EYE ON ME!"

"Geez, warn me next time!" expostulated May, fanning her face. "I just about had the baby right here!"

"Everything OK in there?" called the guard, opening the door.

"It's fine! Sorry!" Rally grabbed her jacket and brushed past him. A moment later, she turned back and jabbed a finger at Manichetti, who was still grinning at her. "I don't care what you think, you hear me? I don't care what anyone thinks! Even if Bean walked up to me right now and handed me fifty million bucks in Dragon drug money, I still wouldn't believe that he—"

"You know he saved your ass on the road, back on I-5," said Manichetti with a sly wink. "I saw him in the rear-view."

"What?"

"Oooh!" squealed May. "Tell, tell!"

Manichetti looked at her. "You heard what happened when Bandit was chasing us up here from L.A.?"

"Some of it! He and Rally got tangled up with a couple of trucks when they caught up to Brown's Lamborghini on I-5. O'Toole shot out Bean's front tire. Rally ran into him when he swerved and they both went down the embankment. Bean's Corvette got smashed to bits and caught on fire, but the Cobra was OK."

"Yeah, like that." He looked back at Rally. "You ever wonder why it happened that way? Why you didn't get hurt?"

"What the hell?" spluttered Rally. "How could Bean have done anything about it? He was out of control and I crashed into him doing sixty! It was dumb luck, that's all."

"Nope. Like I say, he saved your ass." Manichetti sat back and shook his head. "I saw it all."

Slowly Rally came back into the room, eyes fixed on him. "Saved my ass how?"

"Well, you recall you hit him at an angle? He was going right, you were going left, and you collided like that." He demonstrated with his hands. "If he'd kept going the way he was going, he'd have curved round and gone straight down the embankment—just skied down, and you'd have spun out over the edge and done a few barrel rolls."

Rally sat down and frowned, trying to reconstruct the scene in her mind. "Yes...I remember that far. I was spinning left. But I didn't roll—he did."

"Yeah, exactly. He made it happen like that."

"Huh?"

"Like this." Again Manichetti spread his hands and angled them. "The instant you hit him, he pulled hard left. That whipped his rear end to the right, and he pushed your front along with him, so you curved right and ended up straight-on to the edge just as you went over. He had his right front tire shot out, so he rolled over on the road because of that stunt. Back end first, even, and at the speed he was going, he catapulted direct over the edge." Manichetti jerked a thumb over his shoulder and made a whistling sound. "Quite a sight, I'm tellin' ya."

"You're kidding."

"Nope." Manichetti slowly shook his head. "Never seen the like of it. That man's one hell of a driver."

Bean had thrown all his skill towards ensuring her safety? That impulse had almost cost him everything he had, not just his favorite LS-7 Corvette. He had ended up in a terrible position. Upside down in a burning car, legs trapped under the dashboard, the flames licking at the open back window— "Oh...my God."

"Yeah, thank God, or thank that SOB's instincts. He couldn't've saved both himself and you, so he picked you and went for broke."

Without a word, Rally got up and left the room. May trotted after her, for once wise enough to hold her tongue.

"I want something to eat," said Rally grimly. "I am going to the cafeteria, and I am not going to discuss this!"

"I didn't say anything." May nibbled her lower lip with a suggestive air. "But, uh—"

"Don't say it! He saved my life—again! He did it before I was his partner on the job, before I'd promised to split the money! Before we ever got into—oh, be quiet!" She broke into a run.

"Before you ever made love?" Rally whirled on May and she ducked and covered. "You said it, not me!"

"I HATE THIS!" shrieked Rally, pounding the wall and jumping up and down. Just then, Smith came around the corner with Agent Wojohowicz. Both of them stared at her.

"Uh…something wrong?" asked Smith. "We were just coming to see what you got from Manny."

"He didn't have much on 426." May shook her head. "Mostly a waste of time."

"Too bad. Miss Rally, what's the matter?"

"Nothing!" Rally turned away and huddled against the wall. Not going to cry, she told herself. Not going to cry. It's only low blood sugar and fatigue…

"Uh…I think she's tired," said May.

"Maybe she ought to take a break," said Wojohowicz in a diplomatic whisper.

"If she's going psycho, I think she'd better," replied Smith in a less tactful manner.

"No!" Rally moaned from under her arms. "I have to work…take my mind off…"

Wojohowicz stepped up and put a hand on her shoulder. "Look, don't exhaust yourself with this stuff. We're going to need your work on tactical, obviously. Save your strength. The investigative end may take a while if we don't hear from 426, and you've been a lot of help already. So go take a break. We've got it covered."

"But…"

Smith sighed. "That's not an order, because the FBI is not your boss any more. But it's a sincere request. Four hours off, at least. Got that?"

"Oh…all right, Pete."

"There are some spare beds. Get some goddamn sleep if you can." Smith patted her on the back and left with Wojohowicz.

Sleep? That was utterly out of the question, but all of a sudden she was starving. May took her hand and led her through the hallways to the cafeteria.

* * *

"Hi, May!" yelled Tiffany from across the room. Accompanied by a female agent, she sat with a tray full of pastries and chocolate milk cartons on the table in front of her. She took a big bite of jelly doughnut and waved at them. "Hi, Rally Vincent! My mommy's still asleep! Did you talk to Manny?"

Rally groaned and shoveled down more scrambled eggs. She wasn't in the mood for small children, though she was beginning to feel better with some food in her stomach. "Pass the pepper, May."

May passed her the pepper and got up to give Tiffany a hug as she ran over to their table. "Hi, kiddo! Looks like you have a good appetite!" She picked her up and kissed her on the cheek. Rally grunted, her mouth full. May looked very motherly with a child in her arms…she was going to have to get used to that in a few more months!

"I'm really happy." Tiffany spread jelly and powdered sugar all over May's shirt. "My Daddy called me last night!"

May nearly dropped her. "Your Daddy?"

Rally spat eggs across the table. "WHAT?"

"You're messy!" said Tiffany.

"When did your Daddy call you?" asked May, sitting Tiffany down on a chair. The female agent came over to listen; Rally wiped the table with a napkin and sat up straight.

"Last night before I went to bed in the hotel," said Tiffany in a whispered giggle, then drew back and covered her mouth as if she were confiding a secret. "He used his funny voice."

"His funny voice?" May slid an incredulous look over to Rally.

"He calls me when he's away. He makes me laugh with his funny voice. I love my Daddy!" Tiffany got up and whirled in a dance. "I want my Daddy to come back!"

"How would she have gotten a call from…?" hissed Rally.

"Most hotel rooms have telephones!" May hissed back. "Hey, Tiffy, what did your daddy say to you?"

"He said he loves me and told me he was OK! He even sang me a lullaby!" Tiffany did a cartwheel, her dress flipping down to show her thin childish legs. "Then he talked to Mama and then she put me to bed. Where's Manny? I want to talk to Manny and tell him about it!"

"I don't know if you can see him, honey. Let's go find out, OK?" May got up, and as Tiffany scampered out of the cafeteria and down the hallway with her escort, she turned to Rally. "How about that, huh? Finally remembered he has a daughter…or at least he thinks he does!"

"I don't know." Rally's face worked. "There's something weird about this. How would Brown have been able to get the number of the hotel? Or know which room they were staying in? That was all supposed to be secret!"

"Search me, but I'll bet the FBI had the phone monitored. Better ask Agent Smith!" May raised her brows and followed Tiffany.

Rally ran to find Smith in his office. He listened intently to her account, his eyes scanning back and forth, then shook his head.

"Call from Brown, huh? Wojohowicz, check the phone log."

Wojohowicz went to another office to get a printout and came back frowning at it. "Not a chance. Mrs. Brown placed some calls to Southern California, all to her mother's number. Two incoming calls—one was me, and the other was also from the Federal Building. Was that you, Pete?" She put the printout on the desk.

"Wasn't me." Smith shrugged. "But if it was from here, it was FBI business. So unless Sly Brown disguised himself as an agent and sneaked in here to use the phone, he hasn't called his daughter."

"She says he did." Rally frowned in thought. "She didn't have any reason to lie that I know of."

"It was definitely him?"

"Apparently it was. But you know, Pete, she said he used his 'funny voice' and made her laugh."

"Sly's a comedian? Ha, ha. He'll be laughing out his ass when I catch up to him!"

"Uh-huh. Did it occur to you that the caller might be disguising his voice?"

"Why disguise his voice when talking to his own daughter?" said Wojohowicz in confusion.

"We'd better get it out of Mrs. Brown," said Smith. "She's been claiming he's dead for sure. Come on, we'll wake her up and give her the third degree!" He slapped the desk and got up.

"Shouldn't we listen to the tape first?" said Wojohowicz, rolling her eyes.

"There's a tape?" said Rally.

"Naturally," Wojohowicz replied.

"Naturally! If you'd put a recorder in my car, you'd put a tap on Mrs. Brown's hotel phone!"

"Bob Wesson bugged your car?" Wojohowicz blew out her cheeks with an air of disgust.

"Oh, you bet!" Rally glanced at Smith. "Were you hoping to catch anything important from her calls? Wasn't anyone listening in on the tap last night?"

"No, because there are enough damn things to do without putting someone full-time on Mrs. Brown's line. I told her she could talk to her mother." Smith sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "I think forcing a trained agent to listen to five hours of that woman's chatter would be grounds for immediate resignation." He picked up his phone.

"She stayed up all night talking to Mama, huh? No wonder she's still asleep!"

"Get me Surveillance," said Smith into the phone. "I've got to pull a tape for review."

"Speaking of the bug on my car, Pete…" Rally began.

"Eh? Just a sec," he said, breaking off his conversation and putting a hand over the mouthpiece. "What about it?"

"That recording Wesson played for me. The one in which Bean and Roy were having a slobberknocker argument. Apparently he picked the worst part and left out the rest."

Smith chuckled. "Apparently so."

"No cracks, Pete." She pointed at him. "I want the whole thing. I need to find out what Bean really said before Wesson took it out of context. Not to mention, I want to know what kind of dirt you got on me and May when we didn't know there was a recorder in the car! How about it?"

He shrugged. "Why the hell not?"

* * *

"May, do you HAVE to listen to this with me?" Rally jammed on a pair of headphones. "I don't want any smart remarks!"

"Yes, I do!" May picked up another pair and sat on a stool next to Rally. In front of them stood a huge bank of audio lab equipment, with computer stations and speakers arranged along the walls. They were using a Mac with an audio CD player and a full complement of digital sound enhancement software. "You got so bent out of shape hearing it the first time that I know you are going to need an unbiased opinion!"

"Unbiased? Don't make me laugh." Rally stopped the fast-forward to see how far the playback had advanced. "This sounds like us chasing Bean through San Francisco."

"_He's rammed them all,"_ said May on the playback. _"I don't know if anyone's hurt—" SCRAAPE!_

"_Oooh! He's messing up my CAR! You're gonna pay for that!" _

"Man, you sound pissed!" giggled May.

"I WAS pissed! Damn that man—he nearly took off the whole side of the Cobra when he drove Buff into me! He jammed me into a building and then he bashed me off the road! How am I ever going to afford to fix that?"

"If we get a taste of that fifty million, it would be pocket change!"

"Yeah, but we are not going to see a cent of it," sighed Rally. "It's on its way to the other side of the world!"

"_He's going to 280 again, then,"_ said Wesson on the playback._ "South, or east?"_

Rally's face twitched; Agent Wesson's malice was the reason she needed to listen to this thing for herself. Perhaps he had edited Bean's voice and manufactured the conversation. There was enough equipment and software in this lab for him to have played a lot of tricks with the raw material. But she remembered his expression of sly triumph as she had listened to Bean's obscene diatribe, and had a sinking feeling that he had not had to change a thing. Bean spoke for himself.

"_What's he doing?"_ said Wesson on the playback.

"_He…he just got eastbound, on the wrong side of the freeway! I can't follow him!"_ Rally sounded shaken and excited. _"How the hell do I get on 280 east?"_

"_You're past it! Get off the freeway and turn around!"_

"_Shit! I'll be ten miles behind him!" _

"That was kind of a thrilling day," said May with a smile.

"A little too thrilling!" Her heart beat rapidly just from her memory of the chase and its aftermath. Rally reached for the keyboard and prepared to fast-forward again.

"_Somebody say he's going the wrong way?"_ broke in Smith's voice. _"Yeehaw!"_

"_Pete!"_ said Wesson.

"_The guy's got balls, at least! Man, this is getting interesting!"_

"I think Smith likes Bean," commented May.

"Of course he does. They are both car nuts and they are both cowboys at heart. What's not to like?" Rally rolled her eyes and fast-forwarded, then played another section of the recording. She heard herself have a phone conversation with Vanessa Sam right after she had let Bean escape on the road east.

"So Bean just slipped out of the net?" asked May. "There sure were a lot of cops looking for him that day!"

"I let him go," Rally confessed, fast-forwarding. "I saw him on Highway 92 heading to the San Mateo Bridge and I didn't call it in."

"Well, well, well," said May, waggling her brows. Rally rolled her eyes and pressed Play again.

"_You...had SEX with him?"_ May's voice was a shrieking whisper. _"With BEAN BANDIT? You lost your virginity with HIM!"_

"Aaack!" gasped Rally, quickly pressing the fast-forward once more. "This is too far ahead! Oh, wait, I have to run it backwards!" She tried to stop the recording and hit Play by accident. "Oh, shit!"

"Hee, hee! Are you a little discombobulated?"

"Oh, shut up!"

"_I should've been goddamn grateful I ever got the chance. OK, I am."_

"Is that Bean?" May adjusted her headphones.

"Yeah, I think it is." For a moment Rally couldn't recall what this conversation was. "What's he talking about…?"

"_I'm never gonna forget what you... I keep thinkin' about how sweet it was. I went and ruined it like the dumb asshole I am."_

"Oh." Rally hit Rewind, groaned and put her face in her hands.

"He's apologizing to you for taking the money and calling you a whore." May raised her brows.

"Yes, that's what he was doing! I ripped him a new one and then I forgave him...that's the story of my life where Bean is concerned!"

"You think you're going to forgive him for this one? Describing everything you did with him on the night of the fire, in front of all the guys?"

"I don't know." Rally's face contorted. She pounded on the keys and stopped the rewind. "It made me physically sick. I could have killed him…and I mean that literally. I raced back to the hotel, and if he had been there, I think I would have taken a shot at him! Thank God he had already blown out of there."

"Why did you think he was going to stay? Roy was right down the hall and dying to have him arrested! Say, I was going to ask—was Bean in bad shape the _whole_ time he stayed in your room?"

Rally flushed bright red. "Well, not totally."

"Oh?"

"He, uh, he kissed me right before he split."

"No kidding?" crooned May. "Like a friendly peck on the cheek to say thanks?"

"No…"

"Woohoohoo! So if you hadn't heard the tape, were you going to go back and let him take a shot at _you_, so to speak?"

"Yes," groaned Rally, head on the keyboard. "Thank God I didn't!"

"Okaay!" May rocked back and smacked her palms together. "You know what, girl? You sound seriously conflicted about this guy."

"Geez, tell me something I don't know!"

"Try it now," said May. "I bet you're in about the right place." Rally played the recording.

The first speaker was Gonzales, sounding as if his voice was coming from a radio. _"There's someone approaching in my rear-view, damn fast."_

"_Dragons?"_ said Smith, sounding the same way.

"Poor Gonzales…" May sighed and shook her head. "Rest in peace."

"_No, it's a black—make that dark blue—some joyrider in an old Corvette."_

"_Well, let him through. We aren't on traffic detail here."_

_WHOOOOSH!_

"This is it," said Rally. "They are tailing Roy on the decoy operation while I check the addresses to find the Dragon hideout. Gonzales and Bui are in the trailing car, Smith and Wesson are in the middle car, and Roy is out front in my Cobra. They're all in radio contact, but the recorder is in my car. They were fishing for Dragons and hooked Bean instead."

"_Man, he's doing about one-twenty—wait a MINUTE!" _shouted Smith.

"_What? What?"_ That was Roy, sounding clearer than the first two.

"_Coleman, step on it! You've got pursuit!"_ said Wesson.

"_What—who was it?" _said Roy.

"_I saw that car right when we got started. But he faded back and I didn't give him a thought. He was watching the hotel, sure as shit—"_

Roy's voice broke in. _"I see him. He's riding up on my ass—"_

"_Give that fucker the gas! It's BANDIT!"_

"_What the FUCK!"_

"_Christ, Coleman, if he thinks it's her driving that car, he's going to—" _

"_I'm stepping on it! I'm—YOW!"_

"_Look at that Cobra fly! Yeehaw!" _whooped Smith.

"_Ack! I think I about snapped my neck!"_

"_Dig that 429!" _

"_Pete!"_

Roy again. _"I'm gaining on him, a little. He's about ten carlengths back and we're both accelerating—I'm doing about one-forty now, oh holy name..."_

"_We're losing you, can't stay in position. Can't see you now that you passed those trees..."_

"_If I crash, I'm going to be chunky salsa..."_

"_Coleman, just hang onto that wheel. It's like driving to Sunday school, only faster."_

"_Agent Smith, you are no fucking help at all. God, what does this thing top out at?"_

"_Guess you're going to find out!"_ Smith laughed. _"Man, I wish she'd let ME do the driving!"_

"_One-fifty-five at least and he's sticking with me. Oh, shit, here's a curve..."_

"_Don't brake going in! Just take your foot off the gas! Those old cars are easy to lock and spin out."_

"_You are no fucking help either, Agent Wesson. Aiiigh!" _screamed Roy.

"_What is it, Coleman?"_

"_He's right up my tailpipe. One moment he was way back, and then—"_

"_Can you get any more speed? He may be trying to force you off the road!"_

"_I'm going faster than I've ever gone in my blessed life. He's still on me!"_

"_What's he doing? Trying to bump you?"_

"_No. He's...he just flashed his brights at me. Now he's pointing. Like asking me to pull over. What? He's giving me a peace sign!"_

"_Sure he isn't flipping you off?"_

"_He did a 'cross my heart'. Flashing his brights again."_

"_Can he tell it's you and not her?"_

"_He's gotta realize she hasn't grown a beard in the last two days! Oh shit...that turn ahead looks wicked..."_

"_Pull over, Coleman," _said Wesson. _"We're coming. We might be five-six miles behind you now. Keep the line open."_

"_No shit. I've got my .38, but that isn't going to stop him unless I get a very lucky shot." _Roy could be heard braking and grunting. _"I'm aiming for a pullout above a cove. Sign says 'Hazardous Cliffs and Surf'."_

"_Good. Talk to him. Stall him. Find out what he wants."_

A grind and clatter of gravel under the car, and the Cobra came to a stop. The engine still rumbled. Another car braked and a door slammed.

"_Keep it right there, Bandit. Hands out to your sides!"_

"_Where's Rally? Put that damn gun away—I ain't here to fight you."_

"_I'm keeping it right on your damn nose—"_

"_Why in hell are you driving her car? She's OK, ain't she?" _Bean sounded tense, even worried. _"Oh, fucking hell! You ain't going to tell me the Dragons got to her already!"_

"_And what if they have? You give a good goddamn about that?"_

"_Hell, Coleman, I'm here, ain't I? WHERE IS SHE!"_

"_You think I'm going to tell you that? You threatened to KILL her, you piece of SHIT!"_

Bean let out a long hiss through his teeth. _"She gone to find O'Toole? Or the Dragon HQ?"_

Roy's door opened and his shoes hit the gravel. "_What the FUCK are you doing here, Bean? Haven't you done enough to her?"_

A pause._ "What'd she tell you?"_

"_She doesn't have to tell me anything! I KNOW! Getting her into this mess in the first place, and then running off at the worst possible moment—what the hell made you scamper like that? I never thought you were some kind of paragon, Roadbuster, but I hadn't taken you for a goddamn coward! Leaving a girl to take your murder rap? Where the hell do you keep your balls?"_

"_It ain't my rap, Coleman. I don't even carry a gun. I just drive, remember?"_

"_You really don't give a shit about her, do you? You used her for your purposes, used her to get you your ill-earned cash, and maybe even—God! You were about to fool her into thinking you're worth wasting herself on, weren't you? Now at least she knows what a rat's ass you are! I'd almost rather you had some principles, or that you deserved even one of the looks I've seen her give you. What a waste of her affection—"_

"_Of her affection?" _Bean spat. _"You joking?" _

"_You piece of shit, you didn't even know it, did you?" _Roy's voice trembled and cracked with anger. _"Or did you? I could tell the moment I saw the two of you together! She liked you a whole hell of a lot better than any man deserves, and YOU could only take advantage—"_

"_Man, you serious?" _

"_Do I sound like I'm trying to pull your leg? You unmitigated asshole!"_

"_GODDAMMIT, COLEMAN!" _Bean roared. "_You want to know why I took off? Because when I found that suitcase I thought she'd hated me every damn minute I'd been with her! I couldn't figure out what the hell she thought of me and I was hoping it wasn't as bad as the names she calls me! She gives me the eye and then she keeps threatening to blow my head off—"_

"_I goddamn well wish she had! You trying to claim you're in LOVE with her? What a LAUGH!" _

"Oh, God!" whispered Rally, heart beating rapidly as she listened.

"_Claim nothin'! I came back here for HER! Will ya listen to me? There ain't no other woman—"_

"_SHUT UP!" _Roy's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. _"If you feed her that line, I will personally come after you with the full weight of the Chicago blue, and let me tell you, Bean, up 'til now you have been lucky and that is all. Percy's been on your ass in his abundant spare time, but he's an incompetent hothead. I am not. You try to jerk her around, and I will have your scalp nailed to the door of City Hall inside of a month. Try me."_

"_What the hell is up your ass, Detective? I come back here to cover my obligations and all you can do is point a gun at me? Listen, I need to KNOW WHERE SHE IS! I know she didn't take that dough, but the Dragons think she's got it, and ol' 426 is real upset about his boy Huang. If she's operating on her own, I gotta go back her up before it's too LATE!"_

Roy cocked his .38. _"That girl's precious. She is not for the likes of you. I am not going to let you hurt her again."_

"_Hah! So that's it. Don't want her knowing I keep my promises, copper?"_

"_Shut up! You arrogant asshole—you KNOW what you've done, and you think she's going to do anything but SPIT on you? It was as obvious as the jaw on your face, you criminal slime!"_

"_What the fuck are you talking about?"_

Roy took a deep, furious breath. _"You RAPED her when you found that money! DIDN'T YOU!"_

"Oh, boy," remarked May. "I'm afraid it was kind of my fault he thought that!"

"Geez…" muttered Rally, snuggling the headphones closer to her ears and straining to hear every word.

A trembling, volcanic silence. A seagull screeched and a car passed on the nearby road.

"_Is...that..." _Bean sounded like he was being strangled with wire. _"Is that...what she told you?"_

"_She didn't HAVE to tell me! May figured it out from the evidence you left in the car, and I KNOW your filthy kind!"_

"_...Figured...evidence?" _A loud thump, as if someone had stumbled heavily against the side of a vehicle._ "She said—?"_

"_It was OBVIOUS! You hit her so hard you stunned her and then you held her down and assaulted her in her own car! THIS car! She's covered with bruises and scrapes and every time your NAME gets mentioned, she shakes! I'm a COP! I've seen it a thousand times! The worst thing a man can do to a woman! I KNOW you raped her! God knows what else—"_

"_No—wait—did she TELL you that? Did she s-say that's what I did?" _Bean sounded bewildered and aghast, his voice shaking.

"_YES, SHE TOLD ME!"_ screamed Roy with a note of hysterical certainty. _"Finally got caught, huh? How many other poor girls have you inflicted yourself on, big man?"_

"Oh, NO!" gasped Rally, clapping a hand over her wide-open mouth.

"Uh-oh." May seemed to remember something. "I don't think he's going to take that very well…"

"_Oh...shit..."_ Bean took a deep gulping breath, almost a sob. _"Rally..."_

"_What's with the kicked-in-the-balls act? You pathetic coward, that's even worse than I took you—AAAGGHH!" POW!_ Roy's revolver discharged and there was another loud thump and scuffling noises.

"_OH FUCK—you're going to break my wrist—OH BLESSED JESUS! HEEEELP!"_

Rally leaped up. "What's he doing to Roy?"

"Threatening to throw him over the edge, according to Smith. Bean must have hoisted him up and dangled him over the cliff." May looked at her. "Calm down, girl. This happened three days ago, and Roy's fine!"

"_NO—oh, please, God, no!" _Roy whimpered. _"I've got a wife and three dogs—"_

"_You answer one question before I throw you to the seagulls, Coleman. WHERE IS SHE?"_

Roy gasped twice. _"Never. I'll never tell you where to find her. Go ahead and toss me over the edge! There's two carloads of FBI agents right around the bend. At least that way they'll have you dead to rights. Here they come, cop killer! You know they've repaired the gas chamber at San Quentin?"_

Two more sets of tires screeched to a halt on the road, car doors banging open. _"Put him down! Move away from the edge, Bandit!" _Smith roared. _"You see this twelve-gauge?" A shotgun pumped and three automatics cocked."I can take your fucking head off with one fucking buck load! Move-away-from-Coleman! GET THEM UP!"_

"_Fine." _A body thumping on gravel, and a whimper of relief. Apparently Bean had dumped Roy on the ground. _"If she's gettin' sliced up by the Dragons, you can rest easy knowing I didn't use my filthy hands to help her!"_

"What?" said Rally in confusion. "He still wants to rescue me?"

"_I said GET THEM UP! RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"_

"_You got to be Smith. Look, they're up. I ain't got a gun."_

"He's not even trying to _escape_," said May, equally surprised. "Man!"

"_Drop and spread 'em!"_

"_Now that's where I draw the line. Coleman, you listen—"_

"_I will shoot, Bandit. I'm fucking SERIOUS—"_

"_PUT A LID ON IT, SMITH! I'm tryin' to carry on a conversation here!"_

"_...Well, ain't HE got muy cojones..."_ muttered Gonzales.

"_Get one damn thing straight, Coleman! I…DIDN'T…RAPE…HER! If she said that, she's a goddamn two-faced—OK, I admit she's got a right to be pissed off at me! But not because I screwed her that night!"_

"_What?"_

Smith spoke again. _"Wesson, get him cuffed—Gonzales, you and Bui cover the bastard. Remember, that jacket's Level III-A resistant or better. Get your piece, Coleman!"_

"_Here's your damn gun. Pick it up!" _A kick and a skidding sound. _"I busted her cherry right in the front seat of that Cobra. By REQUEST! Going to shoot me for it? I doubt the Feds will stop you!"_

The sliding click of handcuffs, first on one wrist, then the other. "_Get him down on the car hood. Here, take this and cover him—I'll frisk him." A thump and rustling of clothing and zippers. "Christ, look at this pigsticker. Wesson, check that 'Vette."_

Bean laughed with a queer edge, muffled against bodywork._ "Still wondering where I keep my balls, Detective? Right where they belong."_

"_I...I don't believe you—"_

"_Yeah? Which part don't you believe? Either I did her or I didn't, huh?"_

"_If you did, you limb of Satan, it has to have been by force—"_

"_Fortune cookies?" _said Wesson in snide amusement, crumpling a bag.

"_Yer drivin' in circles, dude. She liked me too much, so I had to beat her up to stick it to her? Yeah, sure. She wasn't just willing. She was crawling all over me and BEGGIN' me for it!" _The raw edge to Bean's voice had intensified.

Rally stopped the recording, her face flaming. "Oh, boy! This is the part Wesson played to me! Maybe I should just fast-forward—"

"No way! I want to hear this!" May fought her to press the Play key.

"May, listening to this with Wesson in the room was the most embarrassing thing I've ever gone through in my life! If you are going to sit there and giggle while Bean's in front of five men describing having sex with me, I'm going to DIE, you understand?"

May looked at her with an expression that smacked of reproof. "Give me a little credit, huh? I actually know when to be serious…even when Bean's blabbing about how hot you are in bed, sweetie!"

"Aigghh!"

"Relax. Try to listen to this with a fresh ear. Wasn't that the whole point of doing this?"

"I guess it was." Rally clenched her jaw. "OK, roll it. I can take it."

May started the recording again.

"_You lying bastard—"_

"_Gospel truth, Coleman. She wanted it bad and I let her have what she wanted. I played it cool for a while and then I jumped her. She got down on her knees to pray and it took me only half a minute to baptize her tonsils. I spewed like a fountain, man, and she swallowed! She was afraid I'd shot my whole wad—not a chance, not with that randy lady pantin' for more! So I finger-fucked her and I ate her out—man, she's a sweet screamer—and then I rammed it so far up her juicy little pussy she was thinking she had a stuffy nose." _

Someone coughed and cleared his throat simultaneously, and someone else whistled low. _"Shut up..." _moaned Roy._ "If you've got any sense of honor..."_

"_Oh, yeah. But I ain't in love with her, AM I? What a hot little angel she is, and it was only her first time. A fuckin' heavenly lay, lemme tell ya. Great bod, gorgeous tits, and does she love cock!"_

"Wow," said May. "He's really on a roll!"

"Oh, my God…!" moaned Rally. Lacking context, she had missed the real emotion in this diatribe. "He thought I'd lied to Roy! He wasn't bragging—he was FURIOUS! He had to force Roy to listen to him SOMEHOW, and he went off the deep end!"

"Yeah, I guess he did. I know he doesn't like being accused of things like that!"

"_Stop! Shut your vile mouth! How can you say this in front of them!"_

"_You oughta see her eyes light up when she gets a look at a—well, at mine, anyway! No, she never let ol' Coleman into her drawers, did she? That what's really eating you?"_

"_SHUT UP! SHUT UP! That girl's like a daughter to me—!"_

"_Yeah, I knew a guy used to mess with his daughter." _Bean laughed with a coarse snigger._ "Though he don't do it any more since I found out! Well, lucky for you, you ain't her dad, copper, but you ain't ever going to pick that sweet dark cherry, 'cause I got there first!"_

"Why would he hate an accusation of rape so much?" said Rally. "I mean, of course he'd be angry, but why THIS angry? And what is _this_ crap all about? Why was he bragging about—"

"Your virginity? He does keep mentioning that, doesn't he?"

"No kidding! He brought it up to me a couple of times too—has he got some kind of complex, or…"

"You know what, Ral?" May paused the recording. "Didn't Brown say something about how you must have had a lot of opportunities? The cream of the crop? I know that's true! But you turned everyone down flat—no matter who, even a great guy like Larry Sam or a handsome bastard like Brown. You chose Bean Bandit, and he doesn't know why."

Did she know why herself? Rally remained silent, her face scarlet.

"Frankly, it seems like it was a little much for him—you told me he stopped the first time when you told him you were a virgin. He didn't think you really meant to give him something…so priceless, and that you might regret it. He wouldn't take it. It was too much of a responsibility."

"Responsibility?" echoed Rally.

"Uh-huh." May nodded. "If you'd kept it that long, it wasn't something you treated lightly, and obviously he's not the kind to take it lightly either. I guess that's why he needed a lot of convincing the night it happened."

"He said he was thinking that it was nothing but trouble…"

"I can see why he'd think so! But he eventually decided not to waste the opportunity, or he was just overcome—any man might have been, and a man who cares about you the way he does…well, as I said, I'd bet the earth moved!"

"B-but what did it _mean_ to him?" Rally bit her lips so hard that they stung.

"Just listen to him. Get beyond the dirty words and the fact he's rubbing Roy's nose in it, and LISTEN to him!" May started the recording again.

"_KEEP YOUR FILTHY MOUTH OFF HER! HOW DARE YOU! I'm going to KILL YOU!"_

"_Why? 'Cause you know I'm tellin' the truth? I wasn't the one who started it, but I got to say I didn't mind gettin' the invite! She told me to fuck her good, and I fucked her real good! I worked it hard in that slick box—she's so nice an' tight I was seein' crosseyed, but I kept it going 'til she sang like a choir, and she was prayin' for more! I gave her all the cock she ever dreamed of gettin'! Took it on top, took it on the bottom, wrigglin' and humpin' all the way—"_

"_Yee-owza,"_ said Smith.

"Pete, you coarse…" spluttered Rally.

"Well, you did say he was fantastic," grinned May.

"Does EVERYONE have to know it? Arrgh!"

"_God damn you to hell..." _Roy cried.

"_Oh, I was in fuckin' paradise. I thought my cock was gonna explode and my head along with it. Never got so blue-steel rigid in my life, I don't think, and that sweet lady drove me out've my fuckin' mind. And somewhere in the middle of it, I got kinda drunk on...her, and when it was over, I made a twenty-four-carat FOOL of myself slobberin' all over her! Then I got the biggest kick in the balls I ever got in my life and I said some really stupid things and I took off. That's all. Do I make my point? Or did ya want some corroboratin' DETAILS?"_

"_Get him out of my sight," _said Roy, sobbing. _"Before I forget I'm a cop."_

"_What's that got to do with it? If you ain't shot me already, it ain't because you wear a badge."_

"Well, now." May pressed the pause key again. "Doesn't that answer your question?"

"It does? Uh, well, maybe, but it's so CRUDE!"

"Oh, girl…" sighed May.

"I know, I know—he just TALKS like that! I told him—"

"He talks like _what_?" May leaned forward and looked her in the face. "He tells you how wonderful you made him feel? He tells you how helpless he was to resist you? You loved it with him, you let him know it, and because of that he…" May closed her eyes for a moment, apparently deeply moved, and Rally looked at her in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"God, girl! I can't translate this word for word! It's plain four-letter Anglo-Saxon English! You have to understand it for yourself or you're not even going to believe anything I might tell you, OK? I think we'd better listen to the rest..."

"_I don't know why,"_ said Roy, his voice thick with tears. _"After hearing that filthy little story, I want to kill you right now. For robbing and defiling that precious girl you aren't worthy to raise your eyes to, and for throwing it in my face like that, you inhuman incubus."_

"_What the fuck is that?"_

"_A limb of Satan. But I am going to take you down right, Bandit. You're going to regret what you just said to me. I am going to let her know just what you are and why I know it, and then she is going to help me get that scalp. You seem awfully proud of that head of hair. I'll see you with a prison shave yet."_

"_Oh, I get it now," _said Bean with a long, breathy laugh. _"She never told ya no such thing! Imagined it all by yourself, hey? You tellin' me _I_ got a filthy mind, copper?"_

"_Uhh... Put Bandit in the car, Gonzales," _said Wesson.

"_Not before Coleman tells me where the hell she's gone! I happen to know the Dragons are layin' for her."_

"_What, you're working for them now?" _said Roy. _"That doesn't surprise me one--"_

"_Hey," _said Smith, his voice harsh. "_ARE you working for them now? That half-million was your signing bonus?"_

"_Not in a thousand years, Fed. How the hell did you know what they said to me in Vegas? Hey, Coleman! Rally may be a cat, but she ain't got nine lives. Are you gonna let me help her, or is she going home in a box?"_

"_In case you hadn't noticed, Bandit, you're under ARREST!" _sneered Wesson.

"_So fucking what?" _said Bean.

"_Hey!" _shouted Gonzales. _"He broke the cuffs!" _The shotgun went off, and a confused welter of sound scraped and pounded at the microphone. _"Ohhh fuck—shoot, dammit! Shoot!" _A staccato crackle of semi-automatics broke off into yelling and loud thumps, punctuated by rattling gravel.

"_The shotgun's gone over the edge—" KRAK KRAK KRAK!_

"_Here's the carbine—AAGGHH!"_

"_Watch it, he got his knife!"_

"_Don't kill them!" _howled Roy. _"You're CRAZY!" BOOM! _Glass broke.

"_Oh God oh god oh god..." KRAK KRAK SMAASSHH!_

"_Kill him, fucking KILL HIM! OWWW!"_

"_Ahhggkk!"_

"_Aiiigghhh...oh Christ it hurts..."_

"_Goddammit, Bui, you shot my fucking WINDSHIELD out!" _yelled Smith._"What the hell do you think you're—ow—doing, you can't get away with this—stop slashing my TIRES! That's a Bureau car—!"_

"_I'm leavin'. Call a fuckin' tow truck, why don't you?"_ Moans of pain, loud and soft, from several voices. _"One more chance, Coleman. Where is she, before I tear the whole town apart lookin'?"_

Roy made no sound other than half-sobs of breath.

"_Rather see her dead than thinking I ain't a limb of Satan? Fine, suit yourself."_ A scrape of boot on gravel and the sound of a car door opening.

"_Goddammit,"_ Roy gasped. "_She's looking for the Dragon HQ. Checking out addresses in the business district. I don't know where she is right now, because she hasn't called."_

"_Did she get anything from Sam?"_

"_Larry Sam? No. You know he's in the hospital and his place is all shot up?"_

"_No. But it don't surprise me. Well, thanks for nothing. I got to make me a phone call..."_

"_Whatever you've got! You're going to have to hurry."_

"_No shit." _Bean's door slammed and the Corvette ground out to the road, then roared away.

"_What the hell did you just tell him?"_ groaned Smith. _"Did you tell that fuckwad where to find her? What the hell did you do that for, Coleman?"_

"_God help me," _said Roy, almost inaudibly. _"I just begged Bean Bandit to save that girl's life. Oh, God help me…"_

* * *

"We're going to die," said Agent Bui.

"No, we're not," said Larry stubbornly. "Rally Vincent is going to rescue us."

"I saw my partner die," said Bui in a hollow tone. "Gonzales. He took a long time to die. 426 tortured him to death."

"Oh, my God," said Larry, squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to shift on the broken concrete to find a more comfortable position, but since the two of them were tied back to back, he could barely move.

"I was put on the shock bed too. But he didn't want to kill me. He said I was the spare and he'd keep me alive for now. Ronnie was tortured instead, because he wasn't Asian. He's dead because he's not Asian. I don't think that's fair."

"Hell no, it's not fair. But it's not your fault, Bui. It's 426's."

"Is she really going to rescue us? What time is it?"

"I think it's morning," said Larry, squinting up at a narrow shaft of sunlight that had broken through the roof. "It's early Monday morning, July 12."

"I ought to be at work. I'm going to be late."

"Tell me about it," sighed Larry. "Look, Bui, try to sleep or something, OK? Everything's going to be all right."

"I don't want to die," said Agent Bui.

"Rally Vincent," said Larry. "Think about Rally Vincent."

"Trust me, she's on me mind every wakin' moment," said a voice out of the darkness, accompanied by a creaking noise and a laugh. "And in me best dreams, she's screamin' me name with all her heart and I've got her brown nigger titties spitted on me knife, along with both her pretty eyeballs."

"Silence," said 426 with an air of infinite patience.


	22. Chapter 22

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty-Two**

"Roy!" Rally stamped out into the hallway. "Dammit, where is Roy?"

May followed, shedding her headphones. "Ral, don't do anything rash! It was my fault Roy thought Bean had attacked you! Don't blame—"

Rally whirled around, finger stabbing at May's face. "You didn't tell him that I'd accused Bean, did you? You didn't lie to him and say that you knew it for sure!"

"Well, no—"

"ROY!" yelled Rally again. She stormed towards the elevator and punched the button for the lobby. May followed her. When the doors opened on the ground floor, Rally ran smack into Wojohowicz, who caught her by the arms.

"Hey! What's the matter?"

"Have you seen Roy?" She practically snarled at the agent, who flinched. "Do you know if he's in the building?"

"Not sure." Wojohowicz shook her head. "I think he went out for a smoke."

"What was the last time anyone saw him?"

Smith walked up behind Wojohowicz and caught the tail end of the conversation. "What's the fuss? Last time anyone saw who?"

"ROY!" Rally screamed so loud her ears popped.

At that moment, Roy burst in through the lobby doors. The metal detectors went off and the guards jumped up to stop him. Roy struggled with them, shouting.

Rally raced across the lobby and grabbed him by the collar. His face shone with sweat, but his cheeks looked gray-white.

"Where the hell have you been?" she spat at him. "Didn't want to face the music, huh? Well, I just heard the tape, you weasel, and I'm going to strangle—"

"Bomb," gasped Roy, writhing free from the security guards. "There's a huge bomb right outside the Federal Building!"

"Huh?" said the guards.

"Bomb?" Rally suddenly forgot all about Roy's sins and let go of his tie.

"Ahh!" shrieked May, clapping her hands to her cheeks.

"He parked it in front of the concrete barriers!" Roy waved his arms at the entrance. "He had another car following him, and he jumped in it and took off! It's on a trailer—the thing's huge!"

"Evacuate!" Smith leaned over the security desk, pulled up a cover and punched a large red button. An ear-piercing alarm went off and the glass front doors closed. A steel shutter descended over them and clanged shut. Everyone in sight moved for the rear exits, people emerging from offices and streaming through the lobby.

"I'll coordinate the FBI evacuation!" Smith gave rapid orders to the security guards. "Stay off the elevators! Wojohowicz, you get the Brown girls out! Put a phalanx of agents around them!" He ran for the stairs with Wojohowicz following.

"Is 426 trying to assassinate the FBI investigators now?" May looked panicky, turning from side to side. "Or does he want US dead?"

"It wasn't 426!" Roy ran for the rear exits with the crowd, Rally and May jogging beside him. "Not a Dragon—it was—"

"Who else would want to bomb the Federal building?" Rally glanced at Roy, who was still grey and sweating.

"I'm not sure. I saw the guy drive the truck up and leave it there. I…think it was Bean Bandit."

"WHAT?" Rally stopped short in the middle of the moving crowd.

"I was having a smoke out in the plaza. I saw it stop in the street and the driver get out. He was a hundred yards off, but there aren't many guys that tall with that shock of black hair!"

"_Bean_? Why would Bean want to leave a bomb here?" Rally grabbed Roy's elbow and pulled him out of the stream of people.

"Isn't is obvious? He's gone back to the Dragons—"

"Oh, bull! Roy, the Dragons want him dead worse than anyone else does!"

"Then he's doing it on his own! He thinks the FBI is after him—"

"And bombing the San Francisco Federal Building is going to get them OFF his tail?" Rally threw up her hands. "This doesn't compute!"

"Uh…" Roy's face worked. "But why the hell else would he leave a boat in the street right in front of the plaza? I know it was him, Rally! I saw him!"

"A boat?"

"Yes, a boat! A big cabin cruiser on a trailer! It could hold a hell of a lot of explosive!"

Ken sprinted from the stairwell and joined them by the rear door. "May? What's this about a bomb?"

"Just a sec," said May. "Roy says it's a cabin cruiser, and that Bean parked it out on the street!"

"Bean?" Ken's forehead creased.

A group clattered down the stairwell—men in protective suits with FBI BOMB SQUAD stenciled across them. Equipment strapped to their backs, they strode across the lobby with grim purpose. Their leader gathered them in a circle and issued orders. He glanced up as Ken and May approached.

"You'd better get out now, people. There's no guarantee we can disarm this thing before it blows, and if it's as big as reported—"

"Uh…may I put in my two cents?" said Ken. "Ken Watanabe. I've got some expertise with, uh, explosives." He held out a hand.

The squad leader looked at him. "I'm Agent Howard Hunter. You got some kind of credentials?"

"On the job training," said Ken with an ingenuous smile. "Believe me, I can help."

"He's right," said May. "But, Kenny, it could be dangerous! Your hands are shaking more—"

"But Bean wouldn't leave a bomb!" moaned Rally.

"You mean like that time Gray hired him to drop one off in the Corncob Towers?" said May.

Wojohowicz came down the stairs with Tiffany and her mother. Manichetti trailed behind. A burly agent had him by the elbow, and he wore leg irons.

"Hands shaking?" Agent Hunter looked skeptical.

"Bean didn't know that was a bomb!" protested Rally. "He—well, uh, he would have charged more if he'd known that…oh, God…" She put her hands to her face.

"Uh, could I say something?" Manichetti ventured. "This boat trailer—"

"I've got a touch of MS, but I can still feel my way around a detonator…" Ken trailed off; Roy was examining him with lowered brows. "Well, you know, I hang out with _this_ little bombshell. Between the two of us, we can defuse just about anything going!"

"We have our standard procedures in place, _sir_," said Hunter. "This is a matter for the professionals, so I think the amateurs had better stand aside."

"If it was Bandit that drove the boat up—" Manichetti began again.

"Amateur?" Ken gritted his teeth. "I'll have you know—"

"Look, that bomb could be ten tons of explosive, and that's enough to leave the whole block a smoking hole twenty feet deep—"

"All the more reason to use all the resources you've got—"

"'Scuse me," said Manichetti in a louder voice. "This thing ain't no bomb!"

Everyone turned and looked at him. "And how the hell do you know that?" snapped Smith.

"Well, at least SOMEONE agrees with me!" Rally felt a tiny breath of hope.

"It's a boat, right? A sixty-foot cabin cruiser." Manichetti spread his arms to indicate the length. "She's got her name painted on the transom. The _Tiffany's Treasure II_. Right?"

"You couldn't read that from the upstairs windows," said Smith suspiciously.

"No, I couldn't, but I saw her before ya dragged me down the stairs. I know that boat. I've driven her."

"Have you?"

"She belongs to the Dragons. Or she did a little while ago. She used to be Mr. Brown's."

"And what the hell is it doing parked in front of my Federal Building?" bellowed Smith. "Packed to the gills with ammonium nitrate and fuel oil—"

"I don't think so." Manichetti shook his head. "Last I saw her, not too long back, she was full of money."

"Money?" said several people at once.

"You mean it's the boat where the Dragons hid their stash?" Smith's eyes lit up. "Wait a minute—why would someone leave it for us? Who would want to hand all that treasure over to the FBI?"

"I told the Roadbuster where she was berthed. I didn't know if he got there in time…but I guess he did." Manichetti glanced at Rally with a grin. "And I guess he decided to make you a present of it, Miss Vincent. Merry Christmas."

Rally's mouth dropped open.

* * *

"Will it be sufficient?"

"Enough to blow her an' all of hers to hell where they belong." O'Toole leaned slightly forward in his wheelchair, his yellow teeth bared between his lips, and spoke into a cell phone. "Have we got the last bits placed, then? Have they finished the job? I hear the work goin' on still."

"Nearly." 426 turned to the light, his dark eyes opaque, his own phone held at his ear. "You have been barricaded, which was the first order of priority. The other work can continue in the open, and will until it is complete or we are discovered."

"Beauty."

"We will not meet again, O'Toole. Nor should we speak after this, until it is time."

"It's all the same to me, it is. There's one face alone I want ta see again, an' I know I'll be with me sweet lad before the sun rises. Thanks ta ye, that is, sir. Ye've me gratitude, fer what it's worth."

"It is nothing." 426 shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. "Truly, nothing at all."

"An' that's the generosity of a true an' upright man, ta me mind. It's them as has real accomplishments that can afford to slight 'em. Me, what've I done to make this world a better place? Blasted a few stinkin' RUC to hell, that's what I've done. I did me best by Mr. Brown, an' that's my hope of reward. But I'll go out in a blaze of glory, I will. Thanks ta ye."

"That you shall, O'Toole. Farewell." 426 clicked off. For an instant, an expression of revulsion crossed his features, his mouth contorting, his teeth held together.

"So what's the deal?" asked Larry Sam through dry lips, his voice croaking from lack of water. "What is all this work you've been doing all day? Why did O'Toole leave? Why won't you meet him again?"

426 ignored him, picking his way across the floor and into the dim reaches of the space. When he returned, he had a faraway look.

"Shaoqi—" began Larry.

426 held up a hand. "I do not wish to be addressed by that name."

"You loved me once, Shaoqi. You made love to me." Larry struggled to sit upright. Bui, still tied back to back with him, groaned and slumped. "I know you mean to kill me, because I informed on the Eight Dragons. That's the breaks, I guess. I knew I was taking a hell of a risk, but I did it for Rally Vincent. And for my family. I'm willing to die for them."

His face crumpled, but he quickly regained his composure. "All I want to know is, why? The Triad is smashed. The organization is finished. I heard you say that you had spent your last ten thousand on the materials for the work, and I know that O'Toole was the last man you had. You have nothing left. Why destroy even more lives along with yours?"

"I made love to you?" 426 concentrated his forehead as if trying to recall something. "No, I never had the opportunity."

"Of course you did. Five years ago. You told me I was exquisite, or something." Larry swallowed hard. "You were as gentle as someone like you could ever be. Why do you want to kill me?"

"But you are already dead," replied 426. "I saw you lying dead." His eyes wandered back into the dimness. "On the carpet in the office, your eyes still open. The sight tore my heart open."

"What? I'm alive! I'm speaking to you!"

"O'Toole is already dead—he has resigned himself to death, which is the only true merit he possesses. You should also resign yourself. You will reborn into another body when you have accepted your finite existence. Do not cling to karma and sin. Those who hold too strongly to life become demons."

"Uh…whatever," said Larry.

426 crouched down in front of his captives and looked searchingly into Larry's eyes. "She killed you. Do you not recall? The bullet you took was hers."

"You sent a hit squad to shoot up my restaurant! I took a bullet and survived! You didn't kill me!"

"Henry." 426 made a gesture of mild remonstrance. "Give up your attachment to the world. Life is illusion. Desire is suffering, so eschew desire. Surrender to nothingness, and you will achieve paradise."

Larry's eyes opened wide. "I'm not Henry Huang! Wake up! What the hell's happened to—"

"But you are, my sweet boy. You are my ideal—beautiful, intellectual, obedient. I have sought you all my life, but I cannot keep you by my side. I cannot demonstrate how much I love you, because you have left me. So I will follow you. We must go into the void together, and rejoice only in dissolution. Perhaps, in another life…" 426 stroked Larry's cheek. "Perhaps then, we will find each other again."

* * *

"That's funny," said Rally. "There's no cash." She looked around the cabin again as agents passed bundles over the sides of the boat. The evidence photographers took shot after shot, their camera flashes strobing through the interior of the FBI warehouse. "Gems, gold, some negotiable paper…but no cash. And no drugs."

"Yeah, that's right," said Smith. He looked at a PDA where he had kept a rough running inventory of the boat's contents. "The Dragons would have had millions in greenbacks from their operations. They have to take it out of the country to launder it. It's not under the floorboards or anything?"

"No, sir," replied an agent, blowing off a bit of fluff from the stuffing of a cushion. "We've skinned this sucker down to the keel and taken the cabin apart. There's nothing else." A handler guided his drug-sniffing dog over the side rail and departed down the ramp.

"So did they have the cash stashed another place?" Smith creased his brow. "Manny? What do you know about it?"

"The cash wasn't anyplace else." Manichetti shrugged. "I saw it all packed away in the cupboards. About twelve mil, give or take—a big load of parcels done up in brown paper. You're right, Miss Vincent—there was about forty kilos of smack with it too. But it sure ain't here now."

Rally peered around the seat behind the steering wheel and looked under the boat's dashboard. Her foot crunched on something and she glanced down. A walnut shell.

"I got a positive for drug residue here." Another agent held up a strip of chemical paper from a testing kit. "This locker was full of the shit not too long ago."

"Why am I not surprised?" Rally groaned and picked up the walnut shell. "Bean…dammit…"

"What'd you say?" asked Smith.

"Nothing." She sat down on a box and folded her arms.

"She said, 'Bean'," put in Roy, his expression thunderous. "Obviously Bean Bandit stole the cash and drugs! Well, if that doesn't prove—"

"It doesn't prove anything, Roy! He delivered the rest to the FBI!"

"After taking twelve million bucks and that much more in drugs! When he fences forty keys—"

"He's no drug dealer! I'd be willing to bet he dumped all the smack overboard!"

"Great, we're going to have a pod of happy humpback whales tap-dancing along Ocean Beach," sighed Smith. "I wish he'd left the stuff for evidence, but I can't say I blame him."

"Are we finished?" Rally got up.

"I guess so. You want to blow?"

"Yes, I do. I need some dinner. I'll get that money out of the safe-deposit box where Bean left it, too. I would like to get that off my hands!"

* * *

In the car with May and Ken and a brown paper sack containing $57,489, Rally tried to concentrate on the road, but her mind jumped from thought to thought like a drunken acrobat. They had counted the money at the bank, and it had added up to exactly what Bean had said it would. He still owed her $192,511, the price of a midnight-blue 1967 Corvette hard-top plus assorted gambling losses.

Would he repay the debt? Leaving most of the Dragon's treasure in front of the Federal Building might have squared it, in his mind, but still Rally wondered. Should she even be thinking about this while Larry and Bui were hostages? Still there had been no communication from 426. Was he simply going to kill them?

Unlikely. He wanted her dead, and probably as many of her friends and allies as he could manage to kill. He would contact the FBI as soon as his plans were in place. Every moment that passed increased the likelihood of a message from the assassin.

A message that would lead her to her death, if his plans succeeded. And 426 was intelligent, determined, ruthless. He had only a few people around him, if any. He had lost everything he had worked for his entire life. He had lost his lover, his Triad, his refuges and his treasure. He had nothing left to care about…

"Wow, Bean's rich!" chirped May. "Twelve million bucks in cash! He'll be high on the hog now—Kenny, what would you do with that much dough?"

"Oh, retire to Jamaica with my little bombshell," said Ken, cuddling with May in the back seat. Rally rolled her eyes.

"What about traveling around the world or something?" mused May.

"With a kid?" Ken shook his head.

"Oh, babies are portable—all you need is a diaper bag and a backpack! I'm going to breastfeed him as long as I can…"

May chattered on while Rally's mind returned to its restless jumping. Bean might still consider the debt unpaid. He had ample cash to make up the amount now, but he hadn't left it for her. What did that mean? Gems and securities and boats weren't his stock in trade, so handing it all to the FBI had probably been mostly a matter of convenience. At least leaving it in government custody would keep 426 from reclaiming the treasure.

Did Bean mean to repay her in kind instead? He had already apologized to her for running her Cobra off the road, and he had done her many favors as well. He had nearly died in the performance of what he had considered his duty. Perhaps, when she returned home, Bean would still offer her professional help in payment.

Rally's heartbeat quickened. A debt was a connection, in a way. Bean might want to see her again. He might want an excuse to keep coming around. As long as he owed her money, he could write it off as an obligation. That was how his mind worked—he set emotion at nothing, but cash was paramount.

She bit her lips as a rising surge of queer excitement made her hands tremble slightly on the wheel. Could he even mean to help her and the FBI with the hostage situation? Perhaps he was lying low right now to avoid the San Francisco police, but he might contact her soon. The thought of seeing Bean again forced her to swallow hard against a lump in her throat. The last time she had seen him, he had kissed her on the lips in her hotel room…

"Rally, you passed our hotel!" complained May. "That was the driveway back there!"

"Oh…whoops." Rally shook her head to clear it, made a U-turn and pulled into the parking garage. "So, where do you want to eat?" she said in an artifically bright tone. "I guess we'd better make it a quick one in case something goes down soon."

"Just let me change my clothes!" Ken handed May out of the Cobra when Rally cut the ignition. "I've been wearing these since 4 A.M. and I feel grody."

Upstairs in May and Ken's room, Rally sat down on the bed. May refreshed her makeup in the bathroom while Ken laid out some of his equipment on the table. Although he had not brought any explosives on the plane, of course, he had a suite of bomb-detection and disarming devices. Rally picked up a vapor trace sniffer and examined it.

"You really getting legit jobs in New York, Ken?"

"Sure I am." He recalibrated a hand-held metal detector and grinned at her. "There's a market for my skills even if I didn't acquire them in law enforcement. I've been teaching bomb-disposal classes to cops and security companies. It's good consulting income and I'm getting rave reviews."

"That sounds great."

"Of course, I'll probably have to keep living there to keep that going. I have better connections in the Big Apple than I do in Chicago."

"Oh." Rally's mood sank a little. "Then May and the baby…?"

Ken leaned closer. "I'm going to ask her to set the date, and then come live with me in New York. I can support a family on the straight now, Rally. I want my wife and kid—I want a home. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Rally tried to laugh, though her eyes filled with tears. "Sorry for what? Life marches on, Ken. I know she wants to be with you, and Junior's going to need his daddy. Far be it from me to mess with fate!"

"OK." He examined her with a compassionate expression. "I was worried that you'd try to talk her out of it. I know you two have been close for a long time…"

"Yeah, we have." Rally got up and crossed to the window, staring out at the sky. "Gunsmith Cats has been our life, and we did it together. We did everything together. But when May got pregnant…I knew that this was going to be our last operation as a team. It has to be."

"Not your last operation, though."

"Heck, no!" She laughed and turned back from the window. "I'm Rally Vincent, ace bounty hunter! I'm not ready to quit the biz! Are you kidding?"

"You're going to need a partner, though. Aren't you?"

Rally stopped laughing. "Maybe I will." Her eyes wandered away again.

"Someone who really knows his stuff. Someone who can back you up in any situation. A pro."

"What, you know someone whose resume fits the bill?"

"Sure I do. I think he might already have applied for the job." He quirked his lips.

"Ken…"

"I'll say no more."

"Better not." She mimed a punch to his jaw, smiling. The room phone rang and both of them jumped. The FBI? Usually Smith called her cell phone, not the hotel switchboard.

"Hello?" said Ken, picking it up. "Yes…uh huh. No, she's here." He handed the phone to Rally. "It's the front desk. They say they have a package for you."

"Huh?" She put the phone to her ear. "This is Rally Vincent."

"Ma'am? We tried your room, but you didn't answer, so I thought you might be with your friends. A courier dropped off a bag and said it was an urgent delivery. Are you expecting a package?"

"Uh…maybe I am." A package? Her heart began to race. Like a bomb? Or a decapitated head or two? "I'll come down for it. Don't touch it!"

"No, ma'am, I won't."

Rally dropped the phone. "Ken, bring some of that detection equipment. May, you stay here!"

"What is it?" May called from the bathroom. "Somebody left something for you?"

"I don't know. God, Sly Brown likes to send me packages by courier—maybe it's a necklace and brooch to go with those damn earrings!"

"Earrings?" May laughed. "Hey, Ral, did I ever tell you what happened to those sapphires…?"

"Later!" Rally and Ken left the room with a suitcase of his equipment and a tote bag.

In the lobby, the desk clerk showed them a large canvas duffel with a zippered top. "It came fifteen minutes ago, ma'am. I left it right where he put it."

"Where who put it?" Rally peered suspiciously at the duffel and ushered the clerk away. "He wasn't Asian, by any chance?"

"Uh…he could have been. Why?"

"Don't know yet. Ken, check it out!"

Ken put on a frag jacket, a pair of leggings, a chest and groin protector and a fiberglass helmet. He looked like an astronaut in olive drab and international orange. Rally and the clerk hung back while Ken placed a flexible containment ring around the duffel, careful not to touch it. He unfolded a thick Kevlar blanket to drape over the top.

"One thing I can say—it's probably not photosensitive, since he carried it in here in broad daylight." Ken knelt, lifted his helmet visor slightly and carefully smelled the air above the duffel before he placed the blast suppression blanket. "Huh—smells a little funny."

"Like dynamite funny? Or…uh, blood?"

"What?" The desk clerk looked alarmed and a small crowd gathered.

"Move back, people," said Rally. "Just taking precautions." She spread her arms and ushered everyone in the lobby to the rear exits. Most of them seemed more curious than frightened.

"No, not like that." Ken opened his case, brought out the sniffer and moved it slowly back and forth. "Sort of familiar…but I can't place it off the top of my head." Examining the LCD readout, he shook his head. "Nothing suspicious in the air. But if it was Semtex, it wouldn't show up. Too low a vapor pressure—i.e., it doesn't stink enough for the sniffer."

"Oh. Can I help you with any of this stuff?"

"Well, let's double-check." Ken scanned the duffel again with his metal detector. "Nope—that's negative too. Yes, you can help set up my digital X-ray imaging system. People, please move back. I don't want to accidentally sterilize anyone, OK?" He grinned and took out a laptop and a device that looked something like a chunky plastic utility flashlight with an offset handle.

Rally put the 'flashlight' in front of the duffel and then took another item, an eight-by-ten-inch imager with a flat black screen and a stand to keep it upright. Ken directed her to put it behind the duffel, and moved to the other side of the lobby with the laptop, paying out a long cable attached to the imager. After all the bystanders were out of range of the X-ray source, Ken set the system for a time delay of thirty seconds and jogged back to the laptop. A black and white image appeared on the screen after a short wait; he studied it carefully and fiddled with the keyboard. He sharpened the image, added false color, zoomed in and out. All he could generate was a vague picture of a heap of squared-off objects like children's blocks.

"No detonator in there. No blasting caps, no dynamite. X-rays went clean through. I don't know what this stuff in the duffel is, but it doesn't exactly make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up." Ken took off his blast helmet and scratched his chin in a meditative way. "I really don't think this is meant to go 'boom'."

"Are you sure?"

Ken shrugged and folded down the laptop. "As sure as I can be without picking it up and shaking it."

"All right. If I can't take your word for its safety, I don't know whose I could take, so I'll believe you!"

Ken packed up his equipment, folded up the blanket and ring and stuffed everything into the suitcase. He picked up the duffel and held it out. "Gee, it's heavy."

Rally took the duffel and headed for the elevator with the people in the lobby gaping at her. "We'd better open this in privacy."

"So what is it?" May gingerly opened the door for them.

Rally put the duffel in the middle of the floor and examined it. It did smell a little funny, sort of musty and chemical…like ink, perhaps? Unzipping the top, she looked inside. A number of brown-paper-wrapped bundles, sharp rectangles about eight inches by three.

"What the hell?" Ken leaned down. "Those bundles are the right size to be—"

Rally reached in and took one out. Staring at it for a moment, she tried to calm her racing heart. Who would have sent this to her? A great big bag full of…cash?

"Oh, damn you," she whispered, and tore the brown paper away from a brick of hundred-dollar bills. "You son of a bitch!"

"Money!" crowed May, grabbing a bundle herself.

"Hey! Hands off—this is MY package, remember?" Rally snatched the duffel up and dumped all the cash out on the table.

"There's a note," said Ken, pointing to a folded slip of paper tucked among the packages. Rally picked it up and glanced at the writing. A large, scrawling hand in pencil.

**The last of it**

**B**

"The last of it…" Rally sat down by the table.

May picked up the note and read it, her eyes wide. "'B'? As in…?"

Rally nodded, fighting the tremor in her voice. "You know what? I think I know exactly how much this is going to add up to."

* * *

A little while later, they walked into Smith's office, Rally and Ken carrying the heavy duffel between them.

"What the hell is that?" said Smith, putting down his phone. Empty take-out containers filled his trash can, and he had three half-full coffee cups at his elbow.

"It's a little something in payment of a debt." Rally upended the duffel on Smith's desk. "A quarter of a million dollars."

"Whoa!" he yelled, jumping up to avoid the avalanche of bills. A small mountain of cash spilled over his desk blotter and papers, a few bundles dropping off the edges and landing on the carpet.

Wojohowicz gaped. "Wow! I've hardly ever seen so much money all at once!"

"Oh, I have." Rally sighed. "It gets old."

"A quarter mil? As in, the dough you said you'd get for the FBI?" Smith picked up a bundle of hundreds and squinted at it. "I thought the safe deposit box had only about sixty grand in it."

"It did. We went to the bank and got it. Bean dropped off the rest at my hotel. It's everything he stole from me on the night of the fire, down to the last dime."

Smith stared at the bills, his eyes blank. "Then he's squared accounts." He tossed down the bundle he held.

"Yes, he has. With sugar on top. He doesn't owe me anything, by any stretch of the imagination."

"Well, damn. So much for that."

"So much for that." Rally folded her arms and squared her shoulders. "No word yet?"

"Nope."

"No suspicious activity spotted?"

"None. We've rechecked all the former Dragon hangouts and Brown's properties. Quiet as a grave. There's demolition work going on at the pier, of course, but that's authorized." Smith stepped outside and called for a couple of functionaries to pick up the cash and log it into evidence. "Man, we've made enough free seizures today to pay my budget halfway into the next millenium."

Rally frowned. "Was the pier really so badly damaged that it might collapse? I thought the front façade took most of the blast and fire."

"The structural engineer the owners hired thought it was a hazard." Wojohowicz glanced at Rally. "I saw the workers loading scrap onto a barge—it all seemed legit. You think we ought to investigate this more closely?"

"I just have a feeling about that place." Rally shivered slightly. "It gave me the creeps the first time I saw it…as if some awful things had happened there. The Dragon's Lair…I'm glad it's going down, frankly."

"If you say so. Why the feelings?"

"Maybe it's just remembering what went on that night—the shooting, the fire—and then…what happened later with Bean. I thought Brown had burned to death in there, and I thought I had killed Huang too. I don't know. Every time it gets mentioned, I feel like someone's walked over my grave." She stepped aside to let an FBI employee pick up cash from the floor.

"Superstitious?" Smith made a derisive noise. "You believe in ghosts, or that New Age crap?"

"Well, geez—"

"If the owners told the engineer to condemn the pier," put in Wojohowicz, "he'd do it, because they're paying his fee. As a matter of fact, we've got our suspicions about the holding company that has the deed. They leased it to the Dragons for years and never seemed to care what their tenants did with the place."

Smith frowned in thought. "The ghosts can fuck themselves, but I know you've got a nose for trouble, Miss Rally. We'll send out observers." He picked up his phone.

"I'll go get something to eat." May and Ken accompanied Rally to the cafeteria.

As they chewed on gristly corned beef sandwiches and potato chips, May patted Rally's hand. "Aw, cheer up! You got the FBI all the money you promised them and then some. You are smelling like a rose. Even Bean is acting like Mr. Right!" She giggled and looked at Ken. "If my dangerous man can go legit, there's hope even for the Roadbuster!"

"Grr, I'm dangerous," said Ken fondly. They rubbed noses.

"Hope?" Rally sucked loudly on her straw to startle them apart before they started kissing in front of her. "For Bean?"

"We'll be seeing him soon! The knight in shining armor appearing over the hill!"

"No, don't you see? He's paid all his debts, and he didn't even do it in person. He's _gone_, May. This was the final kiss-off." Rally tossed her empty milk carton into the trash. "There is nothing whatsoever to keep him in San Francisco—with twelve million brand new bucks to his name, give or take a lousy couple hundred thousand, he has other things on his mind."

"Oh, but…" sighed May. "I was hoping…"

"I know you were, sweetie. But honestly, what reason would he have to stick around? Anything he does now will only put me in _his_ debt, and I don't think he wants to do that."

Ken shrugged. "That would be according to the street rules, yeah."

"You were a pro, so you ought to know." Rally crumpled her napkin. "That's how I have to figure it."

May looked disappointed, then brightened. "What if he's not counting it any more?"

"Huh?"

"What if Bean meant that this was the last thing he was ever going to keep count on? What if from now on, it's all on a different basis…like partnership or something? Or, uh, friendship?"

"I'm not partners with him."

"You are so! You shook his hand, remember? Did either of you ever say it was off?"

"May, he tried to kill us—"

"And then he apologized and did you all kinds of favors to make up for it, and you took care of him when he was hurt, and then he rescued me and Tiffany, and—Rally, he hasn't broken anything off! As far as he's concerned, you _are_ partners! And more than that—God, Ral, if he's behaving this way, he must really be—"

"I'm going to go to the pier and help out," said Rally, her lips tight. "You two stay here and…be in love or something."

* * *

Dusk falling at about seven-thirty, the lights coming up across the bay. Rally sat in her FBI car with the windows rolled down. Parked in a pay lot that occupied the pier next to the Dragon's Lair, she had watched the demolition work for a while, occasionally raising a pair of binoculars to her eyes. Evening wind stirred her hair across her face and the last light of the sun glowed red on the East Bay hills. Below her, a few workers still toiled on a barge floating below the pier.

Long and narrow, it fit between the pilings, bumping against them with the rise and fall of the water. The workers had heaped scrap wood and metal six feet high along the length of the barge. She couldn't tell what they were doing now, since they weren't moving any new debris. They walked back and forth, inspecting the wreckage. One spoke into a walkie-talkie and seemed to listen to instructions.

Finally he nodded and clicked off. Beckoning to the others, he climbed a ladder to the walkway that ran along the side of the pier. Obviously it was quitting time. The workers all got into a van parked in the courtyard, padlocked the chain-link fence behind them and drove off.

Rally reached for her half-full take-out coffee and sipped it. It had gone cold about an hour ago. Perhaps she should knock off for the night too, though she wasn't a union construction worker. It was getting too dark to see much anyway, and she needed something to eat other than protein bars. She leaned forward and turned on her radio.

"Parabellum Princess reporting."

"Yeah?" That was Smith's voice. "This is Uncle Sam."

"No dice, as far as I can see. I think I'll blow out of here."

"You got relief coming, Princess. Hang on a minute until he gets there."

"Gotcha." Rally put down the handset.

Someone drove into the lot, stopped at the kiosk and parked near her. The driver got out and walked up to the side of her FBI car.

"Hey, kid."

She turned and met Roy's eyes.

"Hey." Rally made a slight face and hid it with the binoculars. "You're my relief?"

"Yeah." He stooped down and put a hand on the window frame. "I volunteered."

"Is that a fact?"

"I wanted to talk to you. I gather you are pissed off at me, Rally."

"You gather that, yeah."

"Because, says May, I told Bean that you had claimed he had assaulted you."

"Uh-huh."

Roy sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry for that."

"Are you?"

"I have been since I realized the truth." He looked across the bay at the hills, now fading to deep blue-gray. "Which was five minutes after I accused him, even though the way he proved his innocence forced me closer to killing a man in cold blood than I have ever come before. I'm not saying I like the guy, because God knows I don't, but I am aware that in that particular case he didn't do what I believed he had done. I told you that immediately, if you recall."

"Yeah, I guess you did." Rally let out a long breath and slumped in her seat.

"I'm not your dad. You've got a dad and you're an adult. I've never felt like you needed to be protected, anyway. You have street smarts and professional chops and a good head on your shoulders. You are more than a match for any common skip, and you've proved that over and over."

"But…?"

"But that guy is something else again. Bean Bandit is not some cheap punk on a bad bail ticket. If I've learned anything over the past week, I've learned not to underestimate him."

"Are you starting to have doubts about your opinion of him, Roy? I know I do." She pushed the passenger door open. "Come in and sit down."

Roy moved around the car and eased himself into the passenger seat. "Doubts? I realize he's not an abuser of women, even if he is an equal-opportunity street fighter. There are certain crimes he won't commit, and he's gone out of his way to help you lately. Smith seems to think highly of him, if I was going to give any weight to Smith's opinion. Maybe he's not the worst scumbag I ever heard of." Roy rubbed his chin and put a foot up on the dash.

"But you still try to pin anything on him that you possibly can. Like the missing drugs."

"Damn straight I do." Roy's jaw set. "I am a police officer. That man has committed more genuine crimes in my jurisdiction than you can shake a stick at. I am not inclined to think well of him no matter what he didn't do. The point is what he HAS done."

"I know it is." Rally sighed, her shoulders sagging. "Roy, I cannot make up my mind about the guy. I don't know what he is any more. I know what he used to be…but I keep believing that maybe he isn't the same now, for whatever reason. Maybe he's changing his mind about some stuff, or getting older and wiser, or…I don't know."

She thought about the way she had spoken to Bean as he lay on the hospital gurney, cold and white. And dead. About to come back to life…at her kiss.

She shook her head. "Then I call it wishful thinking and the whole thing starts over again. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"The same thing I told you the day I got to Frisco. Be careful. Remember that people don't change that easily—at least, I know I don't change. I figured out my path in life a long time ago." He turned to look at her. "I hope you're going to figure yours out too. Soon."

"I think I had better keep my mind on my work and forget about Bean, that's what I should do. He is nothing but a distraction right now."

"He's a hell of a lot more than that, kid. He's the linchpin for this whole deal." Roy pointed a finger and swept it out in the direction of the pier. "I guess that's a big part of the problem. We have all had to keep him in mind every step of the way. It's impossible to count him out yet, even though I'm kind of glad you're making the effort."

"Yeah, he's a bad penny. Always turns up when you least expect him." She recalled the sound of his voice in the Dragon's parking garage. The look on his face as he drew her gun from the holster and dropped it into her hand. To cover his obligations… "And he leaves big piles of stuff around for you when you don't expect it either. I can't decide why he did that."

"You have Bean's number, right? His cell phone?"

"Of course," replied Rally in irritation. "It's programmed into the phone book on mine. It's not like I'm going to call it or anything."

"Why not, assuming he'll talk?"

"What good would that do? He is probably back in Vegas by now gambling away twelve million dollars. That might occupy him for a week or so."

"Gambling it away?" Roy's brows lowered.

"He gambled away most of what he stole from me—the money he returned to my hotel."

"Huh," said Roy.

"Oh, I'm exaggerating…he's set for life with twelve million bucks, and I'm sure he's as happy as a clam. That Dragon money is not going to burn a hole in his pocket—he'll hold on to it. He doesn't care about its source. Money is money, he says."

"Does he? Then why'd he gamble all the money he took from you?"

"Uh…I don't know. I asked him if he felt bad about stealing it, and he kind of grunted."

"You saying he drew a distinction? Because he had stolen from _you_?"

"Maybe." Rally looked away.

"So what have you seen while you've been here? Anything suspicious?"

"Not really." She felt a little of her tension release at the change of subject.

"Look down there," said Roy, peering out of the windshield. "What's that barge?"

"It's full of junk from the demolition work," said Rally. "They've been loading stuff and walking around checking it. I guess they're planning to haul the scrap wood away by water."

"Maybe so. But doesn't that seem like a slow way to take down a whole warehouse?"

"I'm not sure what choice they have—it's not like they can use explosives, because that would drop it into the water. I think California has enviromental impact laws and stuff."

"Yeah, that's a point." He looked over the edge again. "I don't know. The position doesn't look right, if they wanted to lower the scrap from the side of the pier."

"Oh?"

"I'm not a building demolition expert. But I'm thinking it ought to be tied up alongside the pilings, not pushed right under the deck like that."

Rally's skin prickled. "Gee. That _is_ a little weird."

"It's only a detail…" Roy leaned forward. "But it's setting off your alarms too, isn't it?"

"In this place? Knowing that O'Toole could be behind it? You bet it is." Rally unlatched her door.

"I'll come with you."

"Thanks, I'll take you up on that. The workers have all knocked off for the night, or we could have asked them what they were doing." She pushed her car door open and got out. Roy radioed in and told Smith where they were going, then joined her.

In the growing darkness, they walked half a block to the gate in the chain-link fence. It ran between the two square buildings that flanked the entrance to the courtyard. That lay on solid ground, but the seawall dropped off after about twenty feet. Bare wooden decking continued for another twenty feet over the water before the remains of the warehouse façade began. The barge floated directly under that section of decking.

The bay heaved up and down in a thick, surging rhythm, sloshing against the concrete seawall. She could hear the water washing the pilings and draining from the clumps of barnacles that clung to their bases. The barge knocked against the pilings with a deep thumping sound. Her heart beat just as heavily, echoing in her ears. Even though Brown hadn't died here and she hadn't killed Huang with a stray bullet, many people had lost their lives in this place only a little while ago. Violence and death still hung in the dim air, a held breath like the pause before a dragon's fiery blast.

"I don't like this." Rally narrowed her eyes, trying to see into the darkness past the gaping maw of the warehouse. "I think I already said that this place gives me the creeps, but there's something about this setup…it's haunted house time."

"I know exactly what you mean." Roy glanced over his shoulder at the buildings on the other side of the street. Three-story brick warehouses flanked the street directly opposite, their white-painted windows like dim eyes. Similar buildings marched up the steep hill behind them. "And I also think we should call for backup before we get any closer. I wouldn't want to go in there without body armor and plenty of ammo. If there really is anyone lurking around here… "

Orange sodium-vapor street lights fizzled into life up and down the block, making Rally jump. "Yes. Let's get out of plain sight until we have some genuine firepower."

They walked quickly back to their cars, pulled out of the pier lot and drove several blocks north. Here the land leveled out somewhat, and they parked again on the street. Roy came over to Rally's car.

"Let me work the radio. You stand lookout." Rally nodded and slid out of the driver's seat. Roy talked to Smith and described the situation; Smith seemed amenable. He promised the bomb squad and a SWAT team within minutes, and dispatched the SFPD to block off the street.

"Let's hope Agent Hunter doesn't think I'm crying wolf again," said Roy with a groan.

"You think he will?"

"He gave me plenty of dirty looks after the bomb scare. I'm embarrassed as hell."

"Well…it's not every day someone leaves a whole cabin cruiser in front of the Federal Building! Better safe than sorry."

"Yeah," said Roy. "That's always been my motto."

* * *

"Clear the area." Agent Hunter looked directly at Roy. Another fire truck rumbled down the street, took a left and ascended the hill facing the Dragon pier. "All the streets are blocked off and we're evacuating the buildings. Luckily they're mostly warehouses and mostly empty at this time of night. There are police and fire crews here—everything's covered. We don't want any nonessential personnel getting in the way."

"Yeah, I got the hint. Get the hell out of here and let you do your job." Roy glared back at him and nodded to Rally. "C'mon, kid, let's go."

Rally folded her arms and didn't move. "I don't think so."

"Oh, give me a break. Why the hell would you want to stick around? You're not an explosives expert." Roy unlatched the door of his rental car. "If this thing ends up going boom, let the professionals take the rap and clean up the mess."

"I just want to observe. I'm not going to touch a thing."

"That's for damn sure," said Hunter. "You want to observe, fine, but do it from behind the tape." He pointed to a man unrolling a long strip of yellow plastic printed DANGER—DO NOT CROSS.

"Whatever." Rally glanced up the hill to scope a spot with a view of the scene.

"Then I'll stay and observe with you." Roy buttoned his jacket against the evening chill and walked alongside her as they retreated behind the police lines.

"What happened to 'better safe than sorry'"?" Rally ducked under the tape and jogged up the hill.

"Oh, I'm sticking to my guns on that one. Because I'd be real sorry if something happened and I wasn't there to keep you safe." His black beard twitched with his smile.

"Thanks, Roy." She gave his arm a quick squeeze.

At a flat intersection high above the waterfront, they stopped and turned around. Two police cars and a fire department paramedic van had circled the wagons there, blocking all the streets except the one that led down to the pier. The drivers remained at their wheels, but a couple of paramedics stood in the intersection, greeting Rally and Roy with nods.

"Christ, didn't we just clean up this shithole last week?" A stocky woman paramedic in full fire kit leaned against the side of the van and tilted up the brim of her helmet.

"Yeah, there was a bomb and a fire," said Rally. "Some people got shot, some got blown up. It was messy."

"_Another_ bomb? Who's got such a grudge against this place?"

"Probably a man named O'Toole." Rally looked at the warehouses that marched down the hill below them. "I wonder where the hell he is…he's not real mobile right now."

"No?"

"He's in a wheelchair with one leg missing."

"That doesn't sound so dangerous."

Rally gave a short, snorting laugh. "Where he's concerned…you never know."

* * *

"Aw, shite."

O'Toole watched as Rally and Roy walked up the hill and passed out of his line of sight. "Leavin' before the party's right started? Spoilsports. Ah, well—ye'll be back again in no time when we give ye a holler, won't ye now? Not to worry."

He put his binoculars on the tray mounted to the arms of his wheelchair and took a long pull from his canteen. "Wish I had me a bottle of whiskey at hand…but then again, a dish like tonight's dinner goes down best when I'm stone cold sober."

* * *

A car came through the police lines and pulled up behind the bomb squad's van, Wojohowicz at the wheel. She and Smith got out and the squad leader jogged over to speak to them. Smith seemed to ask a question; the squad leader pointed up the hill in Rally's direction. She gave the agents a wave and turned back to the conversation she was having with the woman paramedic.

"So what's it like? When someone burns to death?"

"Oh, I dunno," said the paramedic, pursing her lips and shrugging. "You don't really wanna hear that."

"Look, I…it's something I've been afraid of for a long time. I guess you could say I have a phobia. If I knew more about it, maybe I—"

"Maybe you'd hate the idea even worse." The paramedic looked at her. "Honestly, it's not something you get used to, seeing a person burned to death. It bothers you more every time you see it, not less. I'm not saying you always barf at the smell—that part you do get over, because you have to if you're going to do the job—but learning more about all the ways people can die doesn't do anyone on this earth a damn bit of good. Somebody's got to clean up the mess, that's all. Someone's got to fix it up and make it better for everyone else."

Rally touched her holster through her jacket. "Yes, I know."

"There's a lot of pain in the world, and a lot of destruction. Things burn so easy. Whole houses go up in minutes, and people right along with 'em. I've helped carry families out of burned houses, like I said. I've put babies in body bags. A lot of the time, it didn't have to happen. Sometimes all they needed was a smoke alarm that would have cost 'em $9.95 at the hardware store, or all they needed was a fresh battery that would've taken two minutes to put in that alarm. For want of a nail, you know? Whole families dead because somebody didn't put that damn battery in the smoke alarm. Life is precious, lady, so enjoy it. Live it up while you can. Replace the batteries once in a while."

"That's good advice," said Roy.

Smith jogged up the hill, closely followed by Wojohowicz.

"Hey, you lazy bums. Just kicking back and watching the show, hey?"

"We got booted," said Rally.

"So what's the deal? Something in the barge, you think? What the hell good would that do anyone?"

"I don't know." Rally looked around at the emergency vehicles and the squads deploying along the waterfront. "It's turning into a big operation, isn't it? Loads of people watching the show. I can't help thinking…that this might be exactly what he wants."

"What, an audience?" said Roy.

"Yes, an audience. As if...I saw a photograph once in a history class. It was from the Vietnam War."

"From the 'Nam?" Smith looked interested. "What kind of photograph?"

"It was a man sitting on the ground…with flames roaring off him. I can't remember who he was or why it was happening, but I think he had set himself on fire. There were people all around." Rally's throat tightened and she looked down the hill at the pier.

"Oh, yeah," said Smith, nodding. "Buddhist monks. Crazy bastards. They'd sit down in the middle of a crowd with a can of gas and a match, and poof—monk barbecue."

Roy shuddered. "I was just a kid when that was happening, but I remember."

Rally made a sickened face. "Why did they do it?"

"They were protesting against the Saigon government. They certainly made an impression, you got to give 'em that."

"An impression?"

"Sure. Their enemies took all the heat, if you'll forgive the pun." Smith chuckled and stuck his hands in his pockets. "It's according to their religion. I wasn't in the 'Nam yet when this was going on, but I got there a little while after, so I heard a bit of talk. The bad karma turns around and bites your persecutors in the ass…or some shit like that. Whatever. It worked—the government fell."

"But that's awful! How could anyone pour gas on himself and light it?"

"Call 'em fanatics, or call 'em true believers. If you got beliefs, maybe you can do things you couldn't otherwise."

"Fanatics, huh? Maybe that's why this whole thing made me think of that photograph." Rally stared at the distant pier. Her stomach churned, but something seemed to solidify in her gut. A conviction, a determination. 426 might do anything in the service of the Eight Dragon Triad. He might do worse than she could imagine. But still she had to stand firm and fight for herself, for her friends, for what was right. It didn't matter how strong his hatred had grown. She had to be stronger.

"You're thinking about 426?" Smith pursed his lips. "You could have a point there. He sure would like to take us down, and I doubt his life's all that important to him. That's a man with convictions, and no mistake."

"How about you, Pete? Do you have convictions?"

"Sure I do. The Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and God Bless America." He patted a thick hand over his heart. "In my personal opinion, you can't do better than that."

"I might add the Ten Commandments," said Roy.

Smith did not glance his way. "You might do that if you cared to."

"What the hell are they doing?" said Rally, pointing down the hill. Floodlights from the police cars provided the only illumination, since the street lights had been turned off. Between the buildings that flanked the courtyard, she could see men moving around. Someone in a coverall strained at a pair of bolt cutters. The rest of the squad had deployed behind him.

"Recon, naturally. They said their bomb-sniffing robot couldn't climb over all the crap piled in the entrance, and the canine unit isn't available. So they're doing it the old-fashioned way."

"But—that demolition barge is right under where they're standing."

"Well, yeah—it's under the front of the pier. They have to walk over the front of the pier to get to the rest of it. Bomb squads don't fly, you know."

Rally's mouth dropped open. "But that's why we called them in! We told Agent Hunter that it looked strange. Because the barge was under the—"

"That jerk decided if _I_ said it was a bomb, it couldn't possibly be a bomb." Roy folded his arms with a disgusted air.

"Gosh sakes, you think some out-of-town cop called his whole squad out for nothing in the not too distant past?" Smith rolled his eyes.

Roy's ears turned red. "What the hell does that have to do with—"

"I'm going down there to give him a piece of my mind." Rally stepped between the men as Smith opened his mouth to answer. "Even if he thinks it's a false alarm, rubbing it in like that is way out of line." She beckoned to Roy. "Want to help me chew him out?"

Turning away, she strode down the hill. Roy followed her after a moment, and they walked in silence for a block.

"Thanks." Roy sounded both relieved and ashamed. "Sorry I got a little hot under the collar there."

"You're welcome."

"Smith just gets my…well, the whole FBI does."

"I know. Look, Smith is not that bad a guy, really. He's got his prejudices, that's all. And he's a sarcastic SOB and a know-it-all and a little primitive about women in masculine professions, but all things considered…"

"I have considered them, kid." They came out on the street and walked to the police line. Roy raised the tape for her.

"Hey!" yelled a man suiting up in protective gear. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"We need to speak to Agent Hunter," said Rally. "Like, right now. Then we'll go on back up the hill and mind our own business." She ducked under the tape. Roy moved ahead of her as they walked between the flanking buildings.

"Let me handle it," said Roy. "I've cooled off now, I promise."

"If you say so." Rally glanced from side to side as they emerged into the courtyard. "Make it quick, OK? I'm not spending any more time down here than I have to. It's still spooky around this place, even when it's full of FBI people and fire engines."

She drew her CZ-75 and checked the levers. Cocked and locked, ready to go with the flick of a thumb. Right now, it seemed necessary to have the familiar weapon in her hand. Its weight anchored her to the moment.

"I know what you mean."

"I said, all non-essential personnel need to LEAVE THE AREA." Hunter glanced over his shoulder at them. "I believe I was pretty clear on that." The chain had been cut; the man with the bolt cutters moved back. Hunter shooed the other squad members aside and pushed the gate open.

Roy raised his voice. "Agent—"

Rally never heard what Roy was going to say.

Swimming back up to the surface of consciousness a few moments later. Her back was jammed against a wall. Roy lay half atop her, his knee angled painfully into her stomach. Splinters and nails rained down, striking and bouncing from the ground.

Propped up against the wall, a big ragged piece of wooden decking partially sheltered them from the falling debris. Her right hand dangled empty over Roy's hip. She had lost her gun. And also her hearing—her ears rang loudly. She shouted at Roy and heard nothing but echoes in her head.

Flames rose twenty yards in front of them, straight through the blasted decking. Something had blown a tremendous hole in the front of the pier. As far as she could tell in the dense cloud of smoke and dust that surrounded them, everything from the façade to the seawall was gone. And the men who had stood there. The flames soared higher, surging upwards. She knew they must be making a furious roar, but her throbbing deafness drowned it out.

Her face blistering from the heat, her breath searing in her throat, she tried to move. Her muscles felt like wet sand, but she managed to roll Roy aside and get to her knees. He lay face down, apparently knocked cold. Or worse. Too heavy—Rally couldn't raise him, couldn't carry him. Now that she was out from behind the piece of decking, the terrible heat began to sear every bit of exposed skin. Her scalp felt so hot that she wondered if her hair was smoking. She pulled her jacket over her head for an ounce of protection and kept heaving at Roy. She couldn't leave him here. Again she shouted into the silence, calling for help.

Two figures emerged from the smoke and scrambled over to them—a pair of firefighters in full kit and oxygen masks. One picked up Roy by the arms and then threw his limp body over his shoulder. Running heavily, he turned the corner of the building and vanished landward. The other firefighter put an arm around Rally and supported her as they followed. Rally caught a glimpse of Roy's face when his head lolled back. His beard and hair were scorched gray, his clothes charred.

Rally realized that he must have partially shielded her with his body, whether by accident or deliberately she could not know. Apparently she and Roy had been thrown backwards by the shock wave, which had saved them from being cooked alive. If they had continued forward by even a step, they might have been caught in the explosion itself.

"Roy!" she cried, still hearing nothing but echoes. "Oh, God—what happened?"

The firefighter with her turned his head and said something. Rally shook her head and pointed to her ears. They got across the street and took shelter behind a SWAT Humvee. Laying Roy gently down on the pavement, his rescuer took out a walkie-talkie and held it to his ear. Rally knelt beside Roy, her heart pounding.

Roy moved and seemed to be groaning—he was alive, at least.

"Roy?" Rally's hand hovered above his blistered face.

He groaned again, a terrible croak. "Need…water…" she made out from the movements of his lips.

"Get him some water!" she cried. "Get one of these ambulances! He's hurt!"

* * *

"Fockin' hell! Fockin' hell!"

"You set off the charges too soon, O'Toole." 426 bared his teeth at the cell phone. "They are alive? You have not killed her?"

"No, fock ye—I'm doin' me best, sir! Got the fockin' bomb squad, at least."

"They were little threat, having failed even to inspect the barge or detect the charges under the pier. I had alternative means to deal with them. You were too eager—the bomb was not meant to destroy the bounty hunter, but to keep her inside once she had entered."

"So me finger was a mite bit itchy on the button! Can ye blame me?" O'Toole tore at his hair with his free hand. "Who was to know she an' her cop boyfriend were goin' to cross the ground themselves? I couldn't pass up th' opportunity! Anyway, the fockin' bomb squad was—"

426 let out a sigh. "True enough: I know very well that you have no patience or restraint. However, you have not eliminated the squad. There are several relatively whole men on the pier. From their screams, they are not yet dead."

"Can't see 'em from here." O'Toole raised his binoculars. "The smoke's not cleared yet. But they'll make no trouble."

"Possibly not. Indeed, they may be useful." 426 narrowed his eyes in thought. "Yes, once the authorities realize they must make a rescue and that the land access is cut off, they will call in air and water support."

"That's a bit earlier than we counted on, ain't it?"

"It is. All the better to deal with it as quickly as possible." He made an evaluative grunt. "It is well, but do not improvise further without my express orders."

"Yes, sir. How's she catchin', by the way?"

"In about half an hour, the pier will be fully involved. The bounty hunter will have little time to make a decision, and will therefore throw away caution. The outcome is inevitable."

"That's how ye wanted it, sir."

"That is how I wished it, yes." 426 drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent of blazing wood. "I will watch her face as she dies; I will see her eyes melt from her skull and close my own eyes to await the next life. I have made her a pyre to share with me. She will burn."


	23. Chapter 23

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty-Three**

The firefighters kept speaking into their walkie-talkies, but one man patted Rally's shoulder in a comforting way. "Ambulance is coming!" he shouted loud enough for her to hear.

The smoke cleared slightly in the evening breeze off the bay. Flashing lights approached and two ambulances emerged from the gloom, but the vehicles had to move slowly over the chunks of wood and concrete in the street.

Someone handed Rally a water bottle; she propped up Roy's head and gave him a drink. His lips fluttered and his mouth opened and closed like a baby's. His eyes looked dazed and stunned, his face bleeding under the soot and his hair full of ashes. One of the firefighters took off his oxygen gear and put the mask over Roy's face.

Gradually her hearing returned, muddled sounds and sirens thumping and squealing all around her. A pair of fire trucks pulled in front of the pier and the firefighters scrambled to hook up their hoses. The street was full of emergency workers now; police and firefighters and paramedics and their vehicles thronged the sidewalks and the road.

One of the FBI bomb squad men staggered out of the smoke with two firefighters supporting him; he had lost most of his uniform and all of his hair. Charred skin hung in rags from his arms and face. Another bomb squadder lay on a stretcher, horribly mutilated by blast and fire—whether he was even alive she couldn't tell. The rest of the squad were nowhere to be seen. Paramedics worked frantically over both men and one ambulance sped up the hill, lights flashing. Another arrived and pulled up near them. Roy gasped into the oxygen mask, his eyelids fluttering; Rally held his left wrist, since his hands were blistered and pink. His pulse throbbed under her fingers.

Two more paramedics jogged up to them with a stretcher. "Triage!" said one of the firefighters. "This guy's not breathing real well."

"We'll get him out of here." The paramedics slid a backboard under Roy's body and picked him up; Rally helped them load him on the stretcher and strap him down. They changed his oxygen mask for an ambulance model and took his vital signs. His body felt limp and twitchy; she was sure he was in great pain from his burns. Her own she decided were minor, so she stood aside and splashed water on her face and hands to kill the sting.

"Keep an eye on his pulmonary function," said one paramedic to the other. They rolled the stretcher towards the waiting ambulance. About to follow them into the street, Rally turned back when someone took her arm.

"Rally?" Wojohowicz looked greatly concerned. "Is Coleman alive?"

"Yes, but he's not good." She pointed at the ambulance. "He's got burns and maybe some broken bones—I don't know. Something wrong with his lungs..." She coughed.

"You don't look so great yourself, Rally." Wojohowicz narrowed her eyes and scanned Rally's face. "I think you need medical attention too. You were just as close to the fire."

"No, I'm not really hurt. Roy's body…got in the way."

"Smoke inhalation can kind of sneak up on you. Progressive respiratory failure—you may not realize how badly you're injured until you start drowning in your own fluids. Let me get you to an ambulance too, OK?" Wojohowicz sounded like a concerned elder sister.

"I'll go with Roy." Suddenly Rally gulped and suppressed a sob. "Is this it? This is what 426 wanted us to walk into? He triggered the detonation as soon as we were in range!"

"For you," said Wojohowicz. "And for anyone who happened to be with you, obviously."

"What's happened to the rest of the bomb squad? Are they all…?"

Smith came up to her with a walkie-talkie pressed to his ear. He wasn't shouting into it; he was listening, his lips so tight they were gray-white.

"Pete…oh, God." Rally reached out to touch his shoulder. "How bad is it?"

"Don't ask me how many casualties we have. I don't want to add them up yet." Smith glared in the direction of the pier and briefly showed his teeth. "A few of them may still be alive on the other side of the gap, but it's hard to tell with that wall of fire. We're trying to raise their radios." He looked at her; the whites of his eyes were scarlet with smoke irritation, but his glance looked as hard as blue ice. "At least he didn't get you."

"I'm sorry, Pete. I'll be back—I'm going to go in the ambulance."

"You do that. Hope Coleman's OK." Smith spoke into the walkie-talkie and turned away.

Rally stepped off the sidewalk to follow Roy. The paramedics opened the back of the ambulance and prepared to roll Roy's stretcher inside.

A loud whiz and a sound like a harsh cough.

One of the paramedics straightened up with a surprised expression. A small black spot winked in the middle of her forehead like a third eye. A glistening cloud of brain matter hovered behind her, a cone-shaped haze. The paramedic crumpled and fell beside the stretcher. The other gaped at her, and then his face blew out from his head in a shower of bloody fragments, splattering Roy with the remains of his eyeballs and teeth. He fell over Roy's lap and slid down to the road.

A sniper rifle—

Rally found herself in the middle of the street, sprinting as fast as she could run towards Roy's stretcher. She seemed to move only slowly through the hot, thick air. Roy lay alone and helpless, strapped down and half unconscious, and she knew in the depths of her gut that he was the next target. Unless the sniper fired at her instead.

Combat senses flaring at full intensity, Rally crouched low and zigzagged her path. Screaming people ran in every direction, blocking her way and her line of sight. The rifle coughed again and a man fell dead directly in front of her.

She vaulted over the corpse, tucked and shoulder-rolled the last few feet to Roy's stretcher. A bullet threw up fragments of asphalt that stung her face.

Shoulders to the stretcher, she heaved and tried to get it rolling. It was stuck. One of the dead paramedics had an arm wedged under the wheels.

Rally kicked the body aside and propelled the stretcher behind the ambulance. She reached up to find the buckles of the straps that restrained Roy. In a moment she had them open, and she yanked at his arm to roll him off the stretcher. As best she could, she broke his fall, but he landed on her so hard that her wind was knocked out.

A bullet clipped the top of the ambulance from a high angle and struck very close to Rally's feet. The sniper had a good perch, but she had roughly triangulated it by now. A high window somewhere in a warehouse façade thirty yards away. Rally had no weapons, and the perch was bound to be protected somehow. O'Toole was a professional.

And 426 was—the devil incarnate. Possibly the most dangerous team imaginable, and both of them wanted Rally Vincent's blood. This had been well planned. Far too well to allow her to solve the immediate problem without even a gun in her hand.

Another bullet penetrated the ambulance's body and thwacked into the padding of the stretcher. The ambulance's two right-hand tires blew out a moment later and it lurched to the side. All the emergency workers fled the street, abandoning their vehicles. One ambulance took off at high speed, but drew fire. It also lost a tire, spun out and crashed into a building. A body smashed halfway through the windshield and rolled over on the hood, the face ripped off the skull.

"Having fun, O'Toole?" Rally screamed aloud into the din. "I hope you burn in hell!"

"Rally?" Roy sounded dull and vague, his voice hoarse.

"Roy?" she gasped. "Can you walk? We've got to get out of here!"

"Wha's happ'ning?"

"Get underneath and grab the legs of the stretcher, Roy. I'll push it. You just come along for the ride, OK?"

Rally shoved him into the understructure of the rolling stretcher, his upper body half-supported on its struts, and reached up to grab the edge. Roy's shoes dragged on the asphalt when she pushed the stretcher. The top would conceal him a little from the high windows—she had to get him across the road and into a safe place.

Smith, Wojohowicz and several firefighters and cops crouching in a narrow windowless alley between the warehouses waved their arms at her. Wojohowicz grabbed a ballistic riot shield from a cop, held it over her head and started out into the street. An enormous hole blasted through the shield and she staggered, but kept running towards Rally.

Roy fell out of the understructure of the stretcher and rolled over on the asphalt. Rally desperately heaved at his body. Wojohowicz scrambled up to them, discarded the useless shield and grabbed Roy under the armpits. Rally took his ankles and they ran as fast as they could with their burden. Roy's body jerked—he was hit!

Blood spurted from a wound on his left thigh. Many hands reached out for them and supported Roy when they gained the shelter of the alley and relative safety.

"Fuck it, ladies—this is combat!" yelled Smith.

He tore off his sport coat and flung it down. Someone rolled it into a pillow. The firefighters lowered Roy to the ground and cut the leg of his pants to deal with the gunshot wound.

Smith kept raging. "This is the 'Nam! Snipers and booby traps! They're even firing at the medics! Dammit, girls, you might as well be in the goddamn infantry!"

Rally and Wojohowicz exchanged glances. "What's your point?" said Rally.

"So how can a couple of broads go out and rescue a wounded man under fire when all I ever scored was some fucking service ribbons?" He snarled and muttered to himself. "Lost my chance again…"

Rally laughed, but suddenly wobbled in the aftermath of her adrenaline rush. "Pete, was the pier only a decoy?" She leaned against the wall to support herself. "426 just wanted O'Toole to have plenty of people to shoot?"

"I don't know. I have a feeling this isn't over yet." Smith glared upwards. "He's reloading up there somewhere. The building has six floors, the place is bound to be just as booby-trapped as the pier, and I've got no bomb squad."

"So you can't send in a SWAT team." Rally squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to think. "If he's firing out a window, maybe someone can pick him off when he starts it up again. Obviously he's not going to be moving very fast, wherever he is. But I've lost my CZ-75. Maybe the police sharpshooters…?"

Smith's walkie-talkie squawked. "Hold that thought." He moved a few paces away and shouted into the receiver.

"Rally…" Roy groaned in pain as the firefighters tried to stop the bleeding with the supplies from their first-aid kits. A red stream meandered under him, soaking into the dirty ground. "Rally, you there?"

"Right here, Roy." She went down on her knees beside him. He groped for her hand.

"Gimme your cell phone." O'Toole began to fire again, the whiz of the bullets ripping through the dark air. Glass shattered in the abandoned fire trucks and police cars.

"Huh?" Rally could barely hear Roy's weak voice.

"Cell…phone. You still got it?"

Rally felt in her jacket. "Yeah, here it is. I lost my gun, but kept my phone!"

Someone tapped the butt of a heavy weapon against her shoulder; it was Smith. "Here's your HK11. Someone had the presence of mind to haul it along when we ran for cover." He passed it to her and turned to talk to Wojohowicz.

"Thanks, Pete." Rally laid the HK11 on the ground and brought out her phone. "Here, I'll dial for you if you want—did you lose yours?"

"Uh, yeah. Guess I did." Roy succumbed to a fit of harsh coughing. "No, give it to me." He squinted at the little screen and fumbled at the buttons with blistered fingers. "You…you got numbers saved, right? In the…phone book?"

"Lots. Your, uh, your home number is in there." Rally pressed her knuckles to her mouth for a moment. So Roy wanted to call his wife before he—

She couldn't finish the thought. Burned, bleeding fast, no rescue possible while the sniper remained in his perch. A firefighter who had tried to hide in his rig made a dash for safety, and in the next instant collapsed in the road with the top of his head blown off. The alley dead-ended in a six-story wall and all the doorways had been bricked over, so no one could get out of this rat trap except in full view of O'Toole's night scope.

At least the firefighters were there to take care of Roy. If shock didn't set in too soon, perhaps they could keep him going for a while. She knew first-hand what extreme blood loss could do to a man, and Roy wasn't an indestructible young monster like Bean—he was forty-eight and a chain-smoker. But no matter what her emotions were on seeing one of her best friends dying at her feet, first aid wasn't her job. It was her job to do something about O'Toole. Rally set her teeth and got up.

For a minute she watched the .308s blast through the car doors, trying to figure the angles. Which window? From this vantage point, it was impossible to calculate the origin of the bullets. If she stepped out into firing position, she would only have a moment to choose, and a mistake would be fatal. O'Toole probably hated her more than 426 did.

426. Rally's eyes narrowed. Even if she somehow got to O'Toole, he wasn't even the half of it. 426 would have calculated this to the last degree, and so far, it was all going his way.

"This is Roy…Roy Coleman." Again Roy coughed as he spoke into the phone. "Yeah, I'm hurt...never mind. I need to tell you something…"

That didn't sound like he was talking to the woman he loved. Still, he deserved a little privacy at this time. The shooting had stopped: O'Toole was reloading. Rally hoisted the HK11 and moved through the hunkered-down groups of people to the corner of the building.

"What're you doing?" asked a cop. "Isn't that a little heavy for a girl?"

Rally threw him a smile. "I like a gun with some kick. I'm just taking a look-see."

She darted her head out for a moment and made a quick mental snapshot of the dark windows above her. Their dirty panes dully reflected the light of the fire. Half of them seemed to be either cracked open or just plain cracked. Any of those could be a sniper nest.

Behind her, Roy's voice rose with a note of hope. "That's right. You know it. No…she didn't." A pause. "Hello? Hello?...Shit." Roy clicked the phone off and let his hand fall. He breathed out a sound like a sob, with a dreadful rasp in his throat. Who had been on the other end of the line? When Rally reached him again and crouched at his side, he had passed out.

"Yeah, three are still mobile—sort of." Smith spoke over her head while the firefighters put an oxygen mask on Roy. "They say they've retreated into the warehouse for shelter from the fire. That won't last. There's a hell of a lot of smoke in there."

Rally listened for a moment to the agents and firefighters arguing over the situation. Most of them seemed to be teetering on the edge of panic, if they hadn't already fallen over it. "Can they swim? If you get a boat here and put some divers in the water to pick them up—"

"They're too badly injured to take a dip. Anyway, there's a lot of fuel on the surface, and some of it is burning." Smith pointed to the water. The orange light of the fire showed an ugly, oily slick. "There's a risk it will light the decks and pilings of the piers from underneath. I've called the fire boats in. If they can spread retardant in time, they might be able to save the whole waterfront from going up."

"Coast Guard air rescue is coming," put in Wojohowicz. "We'll pull those guys off the pier somehow."

"And then watch that goddamn thing burn to the waterline!" snarled Smith.

Rally blew out her cheeks and stared at the pier. The stub of wooden decking on the shore side jutted out at an angle like a ramp, apparently pushed up by the force of the blast. She hated this place. She hated the oily water, the looming hills behind her, the potholed road strewn with wrecks and bodies. San Francisco was a beautiful city on the whole. But some parts of it she would be happy to put permanently in her rear-view mirror. Get this over with and go home to Chicago. It had crime, sure, and gangs and mayhem. But it was _her_ crime and mayhem. It was where she belonged.

"Home…" she said in a longing tone. "It's time to go home."

Smith looked at her with an odd expression, but said nothing.

Wojohowicz cupped a hand to her head. "Listen, the chopper's here." The hard whack of its blades grew louder.

Smith let out a sigh of relief and put his radio to his ear, speaking to the survivors of the bomb squad. "Move farther into the warehouse and get out the door to the walkway. Then the chopper can drop you a basket and winch you up one by one."

"Thank God." Rally watched the helicopter's lights approach across the water as Smith issued orders on the radio. She touched his elbow. "Pete—uh, before they go too far inside, you mentioned booby traps."

"Didn't they trip it already? The one at the gate?"

"Of course. I'm wondering if there's something else waiting inside...I don't know. It's just a hunch."

His face changed in comprehension. "Yeah, good point. The chopper can use its searchlights to take a peek through that hole in the roof."

The chopper came closer, hovering straight above the pier in the plume of smoke. The fire lit its belly from beneath as it moved to the side and dipped lower. The strong beams of its searchlights swept the water and the roof of the pier, thick with the smoke in the air. Rally gritted her teeth and crossed her fingers, watching for the descent of the rescue basket.

A strange sound—a loud click above the roar of the flames. Rally jumped upright, but Smith instantly pulled her down. Almost simultaneously, a barrage echoed inside the pier warehouse. It sounded like ten or twelve shotguns going off at once. Pellets crashed against the walls and shot across the road to richochet off the brick walls. Several flew into the alley; one struck a policeman, who cried out. The chopper rose and circled.

Rally turned to Smith to ask what on earth that had been, and to her utter shock, found him fallen to his knees, weeping. "A Claymore! A fucking Claymore!" shrieked Smith. He tore at his hair and rocked from side to side. "Haven't heard that sound since the 'Nam…"

"What?" Rally stood appalled. "A Claymore mine in the pier?"

"That son of a bitch! That fucking, cocksucking, ass-reaming piece of shit! He does not deserve to be called a human being!"

"Does that mean 426 is IN there?" She whirled to look at the pier again.

"Come in! Come in!" Smith shouted into the radio.

"No way," said Wojohowicz. She patted Smith's shoulder in a solicitous manner. "He must have set a trip wire or detonated it by remote. He can't be in there—he'd be committing suicide."

A man wrapped in monk's robes, his eyes closed in serene meditation. And burning: wreathed in flame, yet impassive; calm, welcoming. Rally saw the vision as clearly as if 426 stood before her in the guise of a self-immolator; she seemed to see into his mind as well, for a brief, terrible instant.

"Oh, my God..."

"I can't raise the bomb squad." Smith let his radio fall to the ground. "He cut them all to bits."

As if impelled, Rally rose and moved forward. She left the shelter of the alley and took a step out on the sidewalk, hypnotized by the still-raging fire. Someone seized her jacket from behind and yanked her back.

"Where are you going?" Wojohowicz pulled her into the alley.

At that instant, a bright streak ripped from the roof of the pier and into the sky. It left a slash across her vision. Rally blinked, and in the moment that her eyes were closed, a huge white-hot flash blasted light through her lids. Debris hammered the walls facing the pier with a sound of breaking glass and chipping brick. A horrible groaning noise. The smoking fragments of the chopper rained like a hailstorm into the water. Instantly the light went out and screams erupted.

"A rocket! Was that a—"

"Surface-to-air missile—probably a Stinger! Holy fucking shit!"

"Who? Who fired that? The sniper?"

"It wasn't O'Toole. It came from the pier! It's 426!" shouted Rally through the welter of voices. "He IS in there!"

"What the hell is he going to do next? How much military ordnance has that bastard got!"

"Call the National Guard. Call the fucking US Army." Smith stood up, his face white and working. "They can toss a Hellfire in there and wipe out the son of a bitch for good!"

"Uh, sir, this is an urban area—"

"And what if he's got more Stingers? He could knock out an Apache from a couple miles away!"

A cell phone rang: her ring tone. Rally glanced down. Still in Roy's inert hand, her phone was ringing. She craned between the firefighters to pick it up. Was this the person he had been talking to? Who—?

"Yes? Rally Vincent here." Sticking a finger into her other ear, she strained to hear the faint response.

"Rally…please, Rally…"

She jerked upright. "Larry? God, where are you?"

"Larry?" echoed Wojohowicz.

"I'm…I'm in the pier…" He trailed off into coughing. "Sorry. Lots of smoke…getting hard to breathe..."

"In the pier? How? Where?"

"426 has us. Me and Agent Bui, I mean. He's…holding the phone to my mouth so I can talk. He wants me to tell you…" He coughed again. "He just wants you to know that he has no intention of getting out. You're welcome to come in, but none of us are leaving…"

Silence for a moment, then another voice. Stronger, colder. She recognized it instantly, though she had heard it only once. 426. The Red Pole, chief assassin of the Eight Dragon Triad.

"I am ready to meet my ancestors, bounty hunter. I wonder if you are similarly prepared."

The phone went dead.

"Larry!" shouted Rally. "Oh, my God, Larry!"

Smith looked at her. "What? Where is he?"

"In there!" She pointed to the pier. "He said—"

"Bullshit," said Smith. "That's crazy!"

"No, this is for real! Agent Bui and Larry Sam are in the pier with 426!"

"Why the hell would 426 tell you that? What's he going to get?"

"You can't call in a strike—you'll kill the hostages. I think he knew you'd be seriously considering it right about now."

"Then what are we going to do? That bastard is waging war here!"

Wojohowicz grabbed Rally's shoulder. "No. You are not going in there."

"Why the hell would anyone go in there?" Smith's head jerked around. "What?"

Rally's teeth set in a snarl, but her voice shook. "This is what he wants. This is what the scenario is all about. Not about the bomb, not about the sniper—taking out cops and agents is just a means to an end. He doesn't want any interference or any reinforcements. He wants me to go in there to get the hostages. Alone."

"You are not going in there," said Smith. The agents linked arms and stood across the mouth of the alley. "You'll never get them out—if they're even really there. What proof do you have? Before you go straight into a burning building, you gotta have proof!"

"This is 426 we're talking about."

"That's my point. The murdering, torturing, sadistic—"

"But not a liar. Whatever else he does, he doesn't lie." Rally's eyes fixed on the plume of smoke. "That's why he hates Brown so much. Because that guy couldn't tell the truth with a gun to his head."

"I'll give you that." Smith bit his lower lip. "But O'Toole is still up there with a rifle. Forget about how the hell you get through the fire. How does 426 expect you to even get across the road?"

"Larry said I was welcome to come in. Maybe that means O'Toole has orders not to shoot me."

"Oh, come on. He was aiming plenty of slugs your way!"

"Yeah, but he didn't hit me. Perhaps that was on purpose. He's done that before—he was herding me in the direction he wanted me to go. Or rather, in the direction his boss wanted me to go."

"So he's up there killing people just because 426 wants you on the pier and the rest of us pinned down and helpless?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Look, Pete, if I don't go out there and do _something_, we can't get Roy to a hospital. I'm not going to stand here and watch him bleed to death."

The agents exchanged looks. "No, I guess you aren't."

"And Larry…well, Larry's already told me about his feelings for me. He's counting on me. I'm his only hope."

Wojohowicz sighed. "There's a buddy of ours in there too."

"They're all going to b-burn to death…" Rally's voice trembled. Even for Sylvester Brown, she would have risked her life. For Larry Sam and Agent Bui? How could she do any less? "And just maybe I can take out O'Toole as well."

"I guess you can give it a try." Smith wiped a hand over his face. "Putting in for the Medal of Honor?"

"Pete…I want to give you a message for someone." Rally looked down, trying to compose her thoughts. Her pulse beat hard in her throat. "You're the most likely to get hold of him…afterwards."

"Afterwards?" Smith's eyes slid towards the pier. "I won't pretend I don't know who you're talking about."

"So, uh, when you get in contact…well, you can tell him that I, uh, mentioned him."

He raised a brow. "Is that it? The message?"

"Well, no." She swallowed hard and gripped the HK11. This wasn't the time to think about Bean. If she did, she might start thinking about all the things she had to live for. That wouldn't be such a good idea right now. May's baby…and Roy, and Misty and Becky…and Daddy. She loved them all. She hoped they might understand, eventually, that in order to be who she was, she had to do this. Any other course would destroy her, because as long as there was the slightest chance she could save innocent lives, there was no other choice she could live with. "What do you think he would have told me right now? I mean, if he was here?"

Smith slowly shook his head. "Bean would have told you not to try it. He would have said it was hopeless."

Rally rubbed the back of her head, where the big sore lump hadn't entirely disappeared. "Maybe he would have. Tell him I said…that there's always hope." She turned to look towards the water. "Of one kind or another."

"Look at that," said Wojohowicz.

Something flew from the side of the burning pier; a grappling hook and cable thrown by an unseen arm. The hook hit a cleat on the edge of the secondary pier, the half-rotted section of the Y. It held, and the cable tautened as it was secured from the other end.

"Looks like he's set up a zip line between the piers." Smith peered at the cable. "426 chickening out? Maybe he decided he'd better take a powder after all. Fine, we'll be waiting."

Rally stared at the pathway. "That's for me, not for him. He's showing me the way inside."

"Holy crap, I think she's right," said Wojohowicz. "O'Toole's been told not to shoot."

"Bullshit! Even if he has orders from 426, he's one hell of a trigger-happy little fuck!"

Rally took a deep breath, slid past the arguing agents and stepped out from the shelter of the alleyway.

"Hey! What do you think you're—"

"Doing my duty," said Rally.

The street, strewn with disabled vehicles and bodies, was lit mostly by the fire. Parts of the pavement glistened dark in the red light. Rally stepped over a pool of blood and glanced over her shoulder at the warehouse. Nothing stirred. Every breath she took sounded like the rasp of a chainsaw. She crossed the charnel house of the sidewalk and stepped off the curb. The crumpled, contorted bodies of the dead appalled her. Police, firefighters, paramedics.

Rally recognized many of the dim faces—people she had spoken to not half an hour ago, people she had thought of as her comrades. There was the firefighter who had carried Roy off the pier, the woman paramedic who had told her to check the batteries in her smoke detector. All of them had meant to protect, to rescue, to help others, and this was their reward.

Horrible, sickening grief and anger roiled inside her, threatening to burst out into uncontrolled fury. She tightened her grip on the stock of the HK11, which she held close to her body, along her hip and thigh. If she could get O'Toole in her sights now, she wouldn't content herself with crippling him. The moment she saw the least sign of him—

"Heheheh." A dry, rasping chuckle, somewhere behind her—for a moment Rally thought a wounded man was calling to her. She whirled, searching for the source of the sound.

"Hello? Does someone need help?" She bent over the nearest body.

"Oh, I'm not lyin' down on the cold, cold ground. No, me sweet girlie, I've come up a bit in the world." He laughed again, the sound floating over her head, and let off a rapid pair of shots. Asphalt kicked up on each side of her.

"I'm going to kill you, O'Toole!" Rally threw up her chin and snarled. "You're dead!"

"Straight in me sights, girlie. I've got the crosshairs a-restin' right between yer titties."

Rally instinctively put a protective hand to her chest, but immediately removed it. Where the hell was he? Frantically she scanned the windows above her and to right and left, the dim red light revealing almost nothing. Could he see the weapon at her side? If she raised it, he just might fire immediately.

"Ye'll never pick me out with yer wee nine-millimeter, yeh Paki bitch! And even if yeh did, I've been armor-plated."

"What are you ranting about?" Good, he hadn't seen it!

"I'm welded into me perch. Surrounded by steel plates an' concrete blocks, with a wee slit to spy out've. There's not a sharpshooter in the world that could do the job now. Yeh'd need a fockin' tank grenade!" He laughed raucously.

"Oh, you proud of yourself or something?" Stomach dropping, she kept scanning. Welded in? Maybe it was hopeless—she would have to leave him where he was and keep going. And then be picked off when she emerged with the hostages, if she ever made it out?

"Didn't expect that, did ye?" Singsongy, taunting. "Oh, I've got a wee bit more experience than ye have, an' earned it hard, didn't I? Little Paki—"

"And you'll be a sitting duck when the FBI pulls in some artillery! Say, when I exploded the gas tank in your crotch, did you lose the head you think with?"

"Fock ye, yeh bitch!" A note of hysteria—he was close to losing it. Could she exploit that? The pier still burned behind her, but her hatred for cowardly murder burned even hotter. If she could nail the little bastard, this would be a good day!

Rally took a deep breath and yelled. "Hey, O'Toole's missing his tool! Good riddance too—if you hadn't been interrupted while you were kicking off the gang-rape, you'd probably still be trying to get it up!"

O'Toole let out an inarticulate growl. "Get along with ye before I get a twitch in me trigger finger. I still got a bead on yer—"

"Who cares, you overcompensating loser? If 426 wanted you to shoot me, you'd have done it a long time ago. So shut the hell up!"

"Yeh think I take me orders from that fockin' Chink faggot?" screamed O'Toole. "Yeh think so?"

Rally dropped to one knee, simultaneously flicking on the tactical light mounted to her HK11 and raising the rifle. The intense white beam swept the walls above her. If he hadn't been lying about where he liked to aim, she had a bare chance.

From one fourth-floor window winked a small round reflected glint. The lens of O'Toole's scope! Their shots cracked out at almost the same instant, the sound reverberating from the brick walls. The HK11's belt chattered as she kept the trigger depressed, firing off twelve rounds in one desperate, manic burst.

Rally felt the tug of a bullet in her hair, but no impact. Bullets hit metal with loud clangs and whines. The small round glint went out, shattered. At least one of her shots had hit the scope pressed against O'Toole's eye. She'd never have done it with her CZ75, not a snap shot in this light. Had the bullet gone straight through the tube and into his brain?

Sudden silence; she heard a faint thud and creak from above. O'Toole in his death throes? She had only a moment to wonder, for orange flame belched from the window, outlining the narrow rifle slot like a grimacing mouth of hell. She hadn't heard a detonation—it wasn't a bomb. It looked like a gasoline fire. Dead or alive, he would roast in his steel coffin.

Her cell phone rang. With numb fingers, Rally flipped it open.

"You…need to hurry, Rally…please…"

"I'm coming. God, Larry, I'm coming to get you!"

"The way is now cleared," said 426 with a sigh. "I apologize for O'Toole's disobedience."

"What? You mean you triggered that—"

"When he was sealed into his turret, he knew full well that he would not emerge alive. Think no more of him; he has gone to join the only person he ever truly loved." Ammunition cooked off in O'Toole's pyre.

"Brown? Brown's alive! Look, 426, you're not finished. You have to deal with him too, not just with me. Come on out of there and I'll—"

"That will not be necessary, bounty hunter. I await your arrival." He clicked off.

"Smith! Wojohowicz!" screamed Rally. Heads poked out of the alleyway. "O'Toole's taken care of—get Roy to an ambulance!" Smith stepped cautiously to the sidewalk, glanced up and saw the new fire. He beckoned with a wave of his arm.

In a moment, firefighters bearing a stretcher came out and jogged up the street towards Rally. A police lieutenant yelled into a radio and the paramedics scrambled to look for survivors on the street. Apparently some of the wounded were still alive, but the road was almost blocked by ruined vehicles. Two squad cars ventured down the hill and the officers got out to help. Roy's stretcher went past. Rally caught his hand and ran alongside for a moment, feeling cold spreading along his limbs. His eyes opened.

"Rally…wait, don't do it…don't go in there alone…"

"Roy, I have to. I'll see you later—" She started to pull away, but he grabbed at her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Wait! Just wait—"

"For what? There's no time left! I HAVE to do this, Roy! Let go of me!"

"Wait…for the love of God, Rally...he might…" His clutching hand fell away and his eyes closed. She took one last look, turned away and started for the secondary pier. Emergency workers gave her frightened glances. One policeman used his squad car to move a crippled ambulance to the side of the road. Firefighters hooked up hoses and deployed ladders to deal with the warehouse fire, which had not yet spread beyond the window. Wojohowicz jogged up to her and kept pace with her rapid stride as she approached the chain-link fence.

"I'll come with you, Vincent."

Smith caught up to them, panting. "Hell, we'll send in a whole SWAT team! Do this by the book, kid! We'll call in a bridging tank to get over the gap and—"

"The whole place will have burned down by then." Rally kept walking. "He's killed dozens of people already, and probably has the means to kill hundreds more. No one else is getting in harm's way tonight." They halted at the fence, and Smith scowled at her.

"What are you, a one-woman army?

"You bet your ass I am." She grinned with high-strung bravado and hefted the HK11, its barrel still warm. "I'm the only one 426 wants. So that is exactly what he is going to get." Rally slung the rifle to her back, grabbed the chain-link and started to climb. "This is where it ends."

Oh, it was going to end, all right. She had few illusions of success, but she clung to them. What better way to go? She threw a leg over the top of the fence and cast a look at the night sky, not entirely obscured by smoke and searchlights. If she never came out of that pier, someone would still carry on the work no matter what the cost. Someone would keep doing the right thing.

"Oh, Christ." Smith turned away and put a hand over his mouth. "Good luck…"

"Vincent!" Wojohowicz shouted. "Listen!"

"What?"

"BbbbrruummBBRRRRUUUUUMMMMMmmm…" said something in the distance. "BBBBBRRUUUMMM."

Through the commotion, the sound of a tremendous engine penetrated to Rally's suddenly alerted ears. Deep, confident, throaty. Like the voice of a friend calling above the chaos of the crowd.

As if in slow motion, she turned to look over her shoulder. The car's headlights gleamed like jewels, flashing along the waterfront towards them with squad units in pursuit. Buff described a swooping curve through the parting policemen, pulled up ten feet from her and rumbled to a stop.

Bean kicked the passenger door open and bent down to look at her. Rally dropped from the fence and leaped for the car. Buckling the seat harness around her waist with one hand, she slammed the door.

Bean threw Buff into reverse, spun around and raced up the hill. He stopped at the peak of the ridge two hundred feet above the water, turned and inched forward to the edge of the slope. Angling the gearshift into first, he flexed his braking foot and stared straight ahead and down the hill. Far below them, people scattered, clearing the road in front of the twin gatehouses. Between the wrecked engines there was a lane just wide enough for the passage of a car.

The angled stub of pier, the gap: the landing point on the other side. Narrow-eyed, Bean gave a slight nod and seemed to calculate his path. His trajectory, rather: Rally had known what he meant to do the moment she had heard Buff's voice. As if she perfectly knew his mind, as he knew hers. Their eyes met.

The man, the woman, the car, the gun. This was it—their perfect moment. They would have it forever. However long forever turned out to be.

"Ready, babe?" Bean cracked a smile. It lanced through her like lightning and made her heart pound like thunder in her ears. She gave him a sharp nod and set her teeth together.

"Here goes," said Bean, and floored the accelerator.


	24. Chapter 24

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty-Four**

Rally's body slammed deep into the seat. G-forces snapped her neck backwards, but the headrest saved her from whiplash. Buff went from zero to one hundred and twenty in about four and a half seconds downhill, Bean ramming the shift through the gears in a rapid blur. When they hit the ramp in sixth, the digital speedometer blinked up to 169.

Through thin air and into the inferno, hurtling twenty-five feet across in an arc about six feet above the dock level at the apex and down with a crash. For a few moments all she could see was the fire surrounding them. Sweat sprang out on her forehead when Buff's paint smoked and bubbled in the heat.

The burning decking creaked and sagged abruptly to the side under the weight of the car. Rally gasped. Bean jutted his jaw and gunned Buff forward. A stink of scorched rubber worked its way into her nostrils despite the recirculating air system. Buff's tires smoked from their passage through the wall of fire. But they were through and on solid concrete flooring.

Rally looked over her shoulder and watched a large chunk of decking tear free and fall. On the return trip, the gap would be that much wider—and how could they get a running start from the pier? Bean braked, threw Buff into low gear and climbed over fallen roof beams and debris. Lurching from side to side, they made slow, noisy progress. Smoke swirled thick and white over the windshield; Buff's powerful headlights showed almost nothing. But they soon reached a clear area of the floor and the smoke thinned ahead of them. Through the sunroof, Rally glimpsed the underside of the office bridge far above. They were halfway through the pier.

"Déjà vu," she muttered, adjusting the HK11 between her knees.

Bean glanced her way. "Lookin' for Four, are we?"

"Yes…"

"OK. You got an idea how we proceed from here?"

"I…don't know. He's certainly expecting me, but I haven't a clue where he's hanging out right now." She shifted forward in her seat and unbuckled the harness. "Or with what kind of weaponry—he's fired a Stinger—"

"That was a Stinger, huh? Rockin'." He grinned and slightly shook his head as if obligated to pay tribute to sheer balls-out audacity. "This oughta get interesting."

"You saw the flash?"

"Got a good view from the top of Russian Hill." Bean peered out the driver's window. His scar wrinkled as he frowned, then he let out a whistle. "Couple of stiffs over there. Wow, pretty messy."

Rally covered her mouth to counter a sudden surge of nausea. "They must be some of the bomb squad...he set off a Claymore." Buff's right front wheel hit a bump with a soft, crunching thud. "Oh Jesus—you just drove over—"

Bean raised his brows. "Sorry. He was in the way."

She took several deep breaths, trying to clear her mind as Buff moved slowly forward. "It's all right—oh, God. Roy called YOU? He asked you to—"

"Yeah. I've been listening in on the police band. But gimme your sitrep."

Silently she gave thanks for Bean's professional cool. "OK…uh, two adult hostages. They're tied up—Larry said 426 was holding the phone for him. Probably they're at the very back to be as far away from the blast and fire as possible. I think there's still lots of debris down at the end where the roof fell in, so that would be good shelter. O'Toole's dead. 426 is alone, but expect anything. They must have been setting this up for a couple of days, and they had some hired help to do it."

"Figured that," said Bean, maneuvering around a pile of charred timbers.

She wanted to ask him if he had been figuring on this all along—if he had stayed in San Francisco just in anticipation of 426's last gambit, and of her danger as its ultimate target. If he had always meant to appear in her moment of need, storm out of the darkness like an avenging angel, an inevitable force of nature, no longer subject to the laws of distance and gravity. If he had been waiting to show her beyond all doubt that he—

God, no. She couldn't think of a worse time to learn the answer to that question. Ridged red parallel slashes wrapped around Bean's throat under the collar of his jacket; the black stitches were gone now. He had enough reason to confront 426 just on that ground. A strange air hung around him. Virtually returned from the dead, with all extraneous matters burned from his mind; almost purified in his resolve. Unchanged in its hard-edged essentials, his face had taken on fresh meanings, greater power. He almost seemed another being than the man she had known so long, though not well. She had the feeling she would need to learn him all over again. If she had time.

Wind blew out of the gap in the roof, taking smoke with it. The closer they moved to the end of the pier, the clearer the air became. FBI investigators had piled some of the wreck to the sides, so a clear lane stretched to the very end of the pier. No one appeared within the range of the headlights.

Just as Bean braked at a point about three-quarters of the way to the back wall, Rally touched his arm. "I think we'd better go the rest of the way on foot."

"Yeah, I'm thinkin' the same thing." Bean turned Buff around 180 degrees, making a slow sweep with his headlights, and stopped. "And I'm wonderin' what else he's got set up in here. Won't help us staying in the car if I hit an anti-tank mine or somethin'."

Rally shifted the HK11 to her left hand, put on her ballistic goggles and reached for the handle of her door. "I'll go around the walls. You stay on the interior perimeter, OK? If the smoke gets thicker and it's hard to see, at least one of us will still be close to the car."

"Gimme a sec—here." Bean reached into the console, dug through the contents and offered her a military-surplus gas mask. "Might come in handy."

It might, though vision would be a problem with the full-face visor. And if the oxygen level dropped too low, consumed by the fires, a gas mask would be no use at all. "Well…this probably fits _your_ face, right? You'd better hold onto it."

"No, I carry it for passengers. More like your size than mine. I guess." He looked down, his jaw working slightly. "Just in case, hey?"

"Thanks. I'll keep it in reserve." Rally slung the gas mask around her neck. "Lend me a knife, please." He unzipped his jacket and extracted his switchblade. "Wish us luck, Bean?" She held out her hand for the knife.

Dark in the dim interior lights, his eyes dilated for a moment. Something surged behind them that could not be said aloud at a time like this, with every second precious. "You got a real set, lady. So to speak." Lips quirked, he put the switchblade in her palm. "Let's go for it."

Bean killed the engine and turned on the parking lights before getting out. As Rally exited Buff, Bean opened the doors and the trunk lid, using his leather sleeves to protect his fingers since the scorched body panels were still hot. He took off his jacket and dumped it in the car. Out of the trunk he fetched a firefighter's halogen light, which he clipped to his belt. Hands on his hips, he stood silent for a moment, scanning.

No argument? No demand that he should come with her? She wasn't sure what to make of that. "Um…you're not going to wear your jacket?"

"Four's not much on guns, far as I can tell. When I've seen him, he's been carryin', but he doesn't draw...because he can kill you any number of ways. So I figure I'm better off not slowing myself down." He soaked a bandanna with a water bottle and tied it around his neck, then reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small item, which he tossed to her. She caught it out of the air and looked at it.

A ring with one big car key. He was giving her Buff's spare. Rally gulped at the implication, but nodded and put the key away. "How long have we got? I'm no expert on structure fires, but…"

"Eight, ten minutes, at the outside." Bean cocked an eye at the ceiling. "Maybe a little longer if the engines start puttin' water on it. Watch out if you see any funny stuff going on."

"Funny stuff?"

He pointed at the roiling smoke that raced along the ceiling towards the hole in the roof. "Blue flames that run out ahead of the main fire. That means everything's heated up to flashover temp, an' the whole place is gonna explode."

"Oh."

"Hey, it's a big building. It'll take a while to get to that point. We just better be outta here by then." Bean winked and pulled the bandanna over his mouth and nose. He drew a sheath knife from a belt holster and moved straight up the middle of the floor. Rally sprinted to the west and found space to move between the wall and the piles of wooden debris.

Fire-generated winds lashed at Rally's hair and clothing, blasting heat over her. She crouched low and scrambled around the piles with deliberate speed, letting the muzzle of her rifle precede her around every corner. The tactical light made an excellent flashlight, though she knew it might pinpoint her for 426. Several times she stopped and listened, straining to hear anything over the regular sloshing of water below and the roar of the fire. Brown had escaped through that hole in the floor—the two-foot-wide crater in the center of the cleared area. Black smoke rose from it, so the fuel spill on the water was still burning. Still nothing moved other than the pillar of smoke; the hostages, and 426, were well hidden.

In the shelter of the piles, she did not feel the heat as much, but every time she emerged from their cover the growing inferno smote her in the face like an opened oven. Through the smoke near the entrance, a glow of fire ran above and along the roof beams. Dimly she could make out the sirens of additional engines rushing to the scene. Would they risk the approach to the pier?

A strange pair of noises: a deep, metallic clunk like a strong spring snapping something shut, and a harsh grunt, somewhat muffled. How far away? Her spatial senses, normally acute, were confused by the fire, the smoky darkness and the maze of wooden junk. She risked a climb to the top of one pile to get her bearings.

Two pairs of feet appeared, protruding from behind another pile, one pair shod and the other bare. She heard a moan. 426 might be lurking near his hostages, intent on ambush. Rally spun, checking her surroundings in all directions before heading towards the feet. Cautiously she descended and peered around the corner.

Two plastic-hooded figures, lying back to back with their wrists tied in front. The barefoot man wore filthy hospital pajamas.

"Larry?" she said in a loud whisper. "I'm here to get you!"

His head moved. "Ra…Rally?" In a moment she was at his side. The bag over his head was a smoke-filtering rescue hood, so she didn't remove it. Rally propped the rifle on a piece of wood to spotlight the two and slashed at Larry's bonds with Bean's switchblade. The knife grated on the cords. Coated wire cable! Larry and Bui were lashed together at necks, elbows, knees and ankles. She had to separate them. Though the men had slender builds, she could not possibly lift both of them at once.

"Bui's been unconscious for hours…better take him first." Larry's voice was weak, but definite. "He needs more help than I do. I think I can walk."

"I'll move you to another spot while I'm getting him in the car, but don't come with me yet. If 426 has staked it out…"

"I get it."

Frantically she sawed at the bonds, the wires giving way one by one with what seemed like excruciating slowness. The smoke grew thicker, making her eyes smart under the not-quite-airtight goggles. She dared not call out to Bean for help with the hostages. Broadcasting their positions to 426 would be unwise, to put it mildly. Apparently he hadn't noticed what she was doing yet. Thank goodness.

Perhaps 426 had left her alone so long because he was stalking Bean! The thought jolted her, but she suppressed her tremble and kept working as fast as she could go.

When the bonds were cut, she slung her rifle on her back, grabbed Bui's limp body and sat him upright. She slipped his still-bound hands over her head, put her arms around his waist and stood up. Turning, she looped her hands under his knees and lifted him with an effort. Larry grabbed a stick to prop himself up, and stood.

For a brief and horrifying moment, she could not tell east from west. Circling in the debris had turned her around several times. Which way should she go? Then she glimpsed Buff's tail lights glowing through the smoke. "Follow me, Larry."

He staggered behind her with the aid of the stick until she found a handy cave in the debris to hide him in. He crawled inside and collapsed.

She slowed as she approached the car, rested her burden for a moment and checked for anyone lying in wait. Where the hell was 426? This was far too easy. She hoisted Bui again, got him into the back seat, propped him in a sitting position and buckled his seatbelt.

On her return to the spot where she had left Larry, she took a different route, hoping to encounter Bean. Visibility was growing worse, and there was no sign of him. A tinge of panic entered her thoughts.

If he had already met 426, could the fight have been entirely silent? Knife against martial arts. From experience she already knew how lethal the Triad assassin's technique could be. And what had that sound been?

Larry was still in the cave, still breathing and with his eyes open. The almost-worshipful look he gave her through the hood might have made her blush under different circumstances; as it was, she smiled back and prepared to lift him the same way she had Bui. She heard another breath above her, a long slow one let out with a hint of satisfaction, and looked up.

426 stood at the top of the pile, smiling. He wore a black coverall and utility belt with holster, and his hands were empty.

"Your sacrifice is touching," he said. "Prepare to die with me."

Rally sprang to her feet and backpedaled, rifle at the ready. "No way!"

He made no move to attack, neither drawing his pistol nor taking up a fighting stance. But she knew very well that he would prevent any attempt to flee with the hostages. She had to shoot, and she had to shoot now. Still, the decision occupied an agonized moment—she had never before shot to kill when not immediately threatened. Her finger hesitated for a split second on the trigger, and in that instant, 426 leaped.

Her burst flew under his feet. He flipped in the air and came down with a knife-edge strike that she barely dodged. Rally scrambled to the top of another pile and aimed again. He sidestepped the burst so quickly she could not follow him with her eyes. Larry lurched to his feet and threw a splintered board at 426.

"Shaoqi!" he croaked out. 426 glanced his way, and Rally let off another burst. Again, incredibly, she missed. For a moment she was convinced that his skills really were based on black magic. 426 almost seemed to teleport from spot to spot, never staying in her sights for more than an instant. Two-thirds of the belt was gone, and playing tag like this would only waste the rest of her ammo. She stopped firing and circled. 426 landed behind Larry and looped an arm around his throat.

Holding his prisoner in a shielding position, he rested his Sig P221 at the base of Larry's neck and flicked off the safety. Larry struggled, but was obviously too weak to break away.

Rally had the rifle aimed at 426's left eye. She froze, finger poised on the trigger. Both of them breathed hard for a few moments.

"I congratulate you. Your personal courage is impressive," said 426, and bowed his head half an inch. "It is gratifying to see that I have not misjudged your character."

"Really."

"As you followed the path I laid out for you tonight, I evaluated your skills and physical strength as well as your moral fiber. I am glad that I have not wasted my pains. Still, no woman has ever proved herself a truly worthy opponent to me. How you face death remains to be seen."

"Yeah? Whatever—I have no intention of dying here, and neither does Larry, so hand him over. Practice ritual suicide on your own time, OK?"

He gently shook his head. "Your fate is determined. Accept it, and your spirit will move on to another life without pain. Fight your destiny, and your ghost will walk the earth in torment."

Rally rolled her eyes. "Guess what, Mr. Red Pole—you are not God, and you don't determine jack where my destiny is concerned. Can the mumbo-jumbo. Put Larry down, and let's shoot this out like civilized people."

He gave her no response but a calm smile. For all her bravado, time was on his side, not hers. How to break the standoff? She realized she could not count on backup from Bean. More than likely, he was lying somewhere in the debris with a broken neck…

"Why are you still fighting for the Triad?" she burst out. "The Eight Dragon Triad is dead!"

"I fight for love," said 426. He laid his cheek against Larry's for a moment. Larry gritted his teeth. "Would you not revenge the death of a loved one? My Triad is dead, yes. And my beautiful boy, who fell at your feet. We will live in paradise together."

"I didn't kill Henry Huang! It was O'Toole who shot him. In cold blood, I might add!"

426 chuckled and ruffled Larry's hair. "I am aware of that, woman."

She stared at him in shock. "You are?"

"He is a transparent liar. I was never able to obtain a copy of the FBI ballistics report to confirm my deductions, but that wasn't necessary. The truth was written on his face. Such a shooting is not in your nature in any case."

Rally blinked. "What? If you knew that O'Toole had killed your lover, why didn't you kill him? I thought you liked to torture people to death!"

426 rolled his head a few degrees from side to side. "I have punished some offenders against the Triad, yes. But O'Toole was more useful to us alive than dead. In any case, you had already saved me the trouble."

"Saved you the trouble? What do you mean?"

"I invite you to recall your dealings with Brown's bodyguard since you first encountered him." 426 gave her a slow, knowing grin and pulled Larry a little closer.

"Huh? He kept attacking me. I kept making him stop it."

The grin widened. "You made him stop it? Yet you were never quite finished with him until now, were you?"

Something small and sharp-clawed seemed to crawl up the back of her scalp. "Stop hinting, dammit. If you have something to say to me—"

"I also invite you to recall your dealings with other foes—the drug trafficker called Bonnie, for instance, and the gangster known as Gray." He raised his brows, his expression still smiling. "Both of them lost limbs and suffered many painful wounds before they finally perished at your hands. I could mention many other people you have forced to live in disability and suffering."

"What the hell do you know about it? It was self-defense! It was always self-defense!"

The HK11 was heavy; her arm muscles began to cramp. If only she had put on the gas mask! Breathing was getting difficult, and tears ran from her stinging eyes so fast that her eyesight was blurred. She had to do something, and soon. But she had a dreadful feeling that firepower alone was not going to be enough to do the job. It was going to take a miracle.

"Naturally. I have always taken the same course. I inflict pain and destroy life for no other reason than the defense of the Triad. But you display a singular talent for slow killing that even I must acknowledge." With another slight bow, 426 kept his eyes fixed to hers.

"I…I don't do anything of the kind! You're insane! You're a murderer and a torturer and you don't care who you kill! I'm not like that! I'm merciful…" She broke down in a fit of violent coughing.

"I, a torturer?" 426 laughed. "I don't believe I've ever taken more than about twenty-four hours to end a life. You, in many cases, have taken a year or more."

"No…that's crazy!"

"Mr. O'Toole is a splendid example. It would have been far more 'merciful' to put a bullet through his head in the first place. Do you realize the agony he endured as you slowly destroyed his body? A bullet wound here, a broken jaw there, an exploding tank of gas, and still you would not kill him cleanly and outright. You are a creator of pain, woman. I salute you."

A darkness began to thunder in her head, the smoke burning her chest with every breath. "No…you're wrong…"

"In what sense am I incorrect? However, O'Toole at last can suffer no more...unless, as I expect, demons are feasting on his soul in hell!"

The HK11 wavered slightly, the sights drifting off of 426's head, and he pounced. Larry fell aside and sprawled on the ground. The butt of the assassin's pistol hit Rally's right shoulder with tremendous force. A shooting pain went through her arm and it fell limp. Dazed, she caught the rifle in her left hand and fumbled for the trigger. 426 holstered his Sig and casually kicked her left leg just above the knee. It buckled; she staggered and dropped the rifle. Two quick blows from the edge of his hand struck her throat and left shoulder, and with a kick to the right leg she went down. Gasping, she landed hard on her side. He skidded the rifle away with one foot and stood over her.

She was dead. In the depths of her soul, she knew it. Eyes open, limbs twitching and numb, she rolled on her back and looked upwards. The smoke was so thick now that she could barely see 426's face less than six feet above her. Her death was smiling at her in the shape of a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair.

Gagging and voiceless from the throat strike, Rally waited for the killing blow, but it did not come. 426 knelt down and put a rescue hood over her head. Immediately her breathing eased somewhat.

"You will die with me in the flames," came 426's soft, cold voice. "I wish you to feel their cleansing power. So I have taken steps to prevent your being stupefied by the smoke.

"You, I, and Larry Sam will burn in this place. Sam in atonement for his treason against me. You in atonement for your crimes against the Eight Dragons, and your audacity in attacking our interests."

"Bean…you killed Bean…" She could not speak above a whisper, but she meant it as a question. She had to know what had become of him before she died. By fire, the death she most dreaded...

"Is that why you have pursued me? Ah, I see. Bandit was your lover? And his death at my hands has inspired you to vengeance as my loss inspired me. You see, both of us have similar motives. But I have propitiated his ghost, and I do not fear him."

What the hell did that mean?

"The man you brought with you is immobilized and cannot interfere; I lured him to step on a man-trap I concealed in the wreckage. The agent is still in the car where you left him. However, I am not concerned with them—although they will certainly die with us, they do not deserve the honor of my funeral pyre."

The man she had brought with her? He hadn't recognized Bean! He didn't know Bean had survived his wounds! A faint hope cleared a shred of the darkness from her mind. Some feeling crept back into her right arm, and she surreptitiously wiggled the fingers. Bean must have heard the shots. Could he have pried open the jaws of a man-trap? If anyone could, Bean could. But even if he had worked himself free and tried to find her, he might easily lose his way in the now-impenetrable smoke. Their voices would not have carried far.

If he was looking for them! She had to give him a new fix on their location. She rolled her head slightly and met Larry's wandering eyes. The rifle was barely a yard from his outstretched fingertips, but he didn't seem to know it. Trying to signal with her facial expressions failed to get the message through—he looked blankly at her. 426 sat down, crossed his legs and arranged himself with palms pressed together. His eyes closed and he muttered to himself.

The gas mask still hung around her neck. Slowly, with her arm weak and trembling, she eased the strap over her head and off. Larry still looked dazed. She said his name in an urgent whisper. His eyes gained some focus, and his lips moved, forming her name. Glancing at the mask and the rifle, she tried to tell him what she was going to do, but wasn't sure she had succeeded. She had to try. That had been her lifeline in so many situations. Take the risk, and it might work—fail to attempt it, and you were dead already. She gripped the mask, raised her hand as high as she could, and threw it.

The rifle spun in a circle on the floor when the mask hit it, and the stock touched Larry's hand. He grabbed it, pulled it closer, and got a finger on the trigger. 426's eyes opened. The rifle still lay flat on the floor, pointing away from him, so he merely rose to his feet and moved towards them. Larry tried to raise the rifle, but his strength failed; it fell to the floor again, firing.

The last of the ammunition thwacked harmlessly into the pile of debris. Splinters flew, but 426 was untouched. He threw back his head and laughed. Turning, he walked back to his seat.

Something zipped out of the darkness and hit him in the shoulder. 426 gave a grunt of surprise and yanked the weapon from the wound. A sheath knife. He straightened and moved backwards. A huge shape charged head down out of the smoke. The assassin sidestepped and flipped out of his way. Bean took a swing; 426 ducked and flipped again, moving so quickly he seemed to blur. Landing on his feet, he assumed a fighting pose and aimed a strike. Bean charged at him again. Their movements stirred up the clear air near the floor with the hovering smoke, creating a patch of better visibility. She could see their faces now—Bean's was still covered with his protective bandanna.

As 426 sidestepped again, he struck with the heel of his hand against Bean's chin and knocked his head back. Bean staggered and put a hand to his jaw, the bandanna slipping down. Rally screamed soundlessly, knowing that he couldn't defeat the man—there was no way for him to land a single punch. She had only called him to his death. With a tremendous effort, she rolled over and got up on all fours. Coughing, she cleared her throat and tried to speak.

426 froze in mid-strike. Bean swung a huge fist and socked him square in the belly. 426 fell and landed hard on his hip. Rally stared in disbelief. How had Bean done that? 426 seemed to have been taken completely off guard!

Bean took an axe-handle swing and hit the concrete with his fists, 426 rolling out of the way. He sprang to his feet and threw up his hands. Again he dodged Bean's strike. But he seemed unable to mount an offense, his face white and working.

"Stand still, dammit!" bellowed Bean. "Yer the bastard that cut my goddamn throat!" He tore off the bandanna and exposed the raw red scars. "I'm gonna kill you—because _you fuckin' killed me!"_

426's face contorted in terror. "Guang Si!" he screamed. "Guang Si!" He called out in Cantonese, something that might have been a prayer or an incantation. Bean hit him in the stomach again; 426 staggered and fell down.

Larry suddenly laughed out loud, a creaking and unnatural sound. "Lin Shaoqi, the walking corpse has found you!" He added a Cantonese phrase that could only have been an obscene insult, and laughed again in a stronger voice. "You murdered him, but he won't be thwarted in death! This demon will drag your soul to the bottom of all the hells!"

Clambering to the top of a pile, 426 moaned and sobbed. When Bean caught him by the back of his coverall and yanked him down, he cried out. He landed on his feet, sprang up and ran. Bean followed, limping on his left leg.

This was a godsend, the miracle she had asked for—if they could only take advantage of it!

"Bean!" Rally had only a harsh squeak for a voice. "Bean, help me with Larry!" She crawled over to him. To her surprise, he was able to stand, and he helped her up rather than the other way around.

"I got something to take care of first!" All she could see of the two now was shadowy shapes through the smoke; the larger silhouette stalked the smaller.

"Bean, we have to get out! You can't defeat him! DRIVE THE CAR!" She stumbled over the debris on the floor. Larry threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her along. He had spotted Buff's lights, and they ran straight into the car after staggering ten yards. Navigating mostly by feel, she loaded Larry into the back seat with Bui, slammed the passenger door and got into the driver's seat. Fumbling for the key in her pocket and closing the driver's door, she prayed. With the key jammed into the ignition and turned halfway, she waited for a moment while Buff's air filtering system started up and rapidly cleared the smoke from inside the car. She took the rescue hood from her head and peered through the side window.

_Please, let him come back. Don't let it all be in vain._ She cranked the key and started the engine, then turned on the headlights to guide Bean back to the car. Again she waited for a few heartbeats. _This isn't right. He can't die in here. He deserves life. You already gave him a second chance…_ And perhaps this was the reason he had been given that chance, because he had sacrificed himself for others. Wasn't that the definition of true merit?

"Larry, can you drive a stick?"

"Sort of." His face was smoke-streaked and pale. "Why? You aren't saying—"

"I'm going to go look for Bean. If I'm not back in here in one minute, you take the car. Drive it off the end of the pier—it's probably pretty airtight."

"The trunk lid's still open." Larry pointed to the back.

"Uh…well, I'll close it for you. Anyway, anything's better than staying in here!" She reached for the door handle.

A heavy weight slammed into the side of the car, rocking it slightly. She got a glimpse of Bean's chest pressed against the glass and immediately popped the locks. He limped around the front of the car, keeping a hand on the hood, flung open the driver's door and shoved her aside. Rally rolled into the passenger seat. A cloud of smoke came in with Bean; his face and arms were nearly black. He threw Buff into reverse and backed up at high speed until the rear bumper hit the wall at the very end of the pier. The air above them was suddenly clearer, the smoke rising in a high layer.

"Bean, you can't make it over the gap from a standing start—just dump it in the water and we'll get out somehow. If you miss, you'll hit the sea wall and drop into the bay anyway!"

"Hang on," was all he said, though he flipped up a striped safety cover below the dash. It revealed a large red button—the nitrous oxide system. "Ohh shit," Larry muttered. Rally braced her head against her seat and looked straight up through the sunroof. Far above her, glowing and dancing, she saw strange blue flames snake out along the roof beams.

Bean shifted and jammed his foot on the gas. Just as Buff started, Rally felt a thump at the rear of the car, like the trunk lid slamming. She couldn't look back, because Bean roared out so fast the car almost did a wheelie. He counted down, his lips moving and his thumb poised, and hit the red button.

WHOOOSSHH! Buff took off like a Saturn V. Debris flew to each side as they raced straight towards the wall of flame that had now reached well into the pier.

In the rear-view mirror, Rally saw a huge ball of fire explode behind them, boiling out to intercept the car at the speed of sound. Compared to the fireball, the wall of flame looked like a campfire. Buff soared into thin air over the gap, and the tremendous flare soared out with it.

The car landed with its front wheels on solid ground and its rear wheels just short of the sea wall. It slid backwards, and the fireball enveloped it. The temperature inside the car shot up. Terrible heat radiated through the windows, and the outer layers blurred and ran—the glass was melting. Rally screamed. In a moment, they would all be either roasted or drowned. Maybe both.

Bean seized the gearshift and jabbed a button. Blades shot out from Buff's rear wheels and dug into the top of the wall, arresting their slide. The engine hammered; the whole car shook and gave out a deep groan. The fireball retreated. Bean worked the gas in short bursts and Buff heaved forward inch by inch. At last, the car landed in the courtyard on all four wheels. The tires were vaporized and the blades had been welded in place. Buff struggled and scraped across the road and into a side street sheltered from the fire. The engine wheezed, clunked, and died. Buff coasted down a slight slope in eerie silence.

Bean braked, turned off the useless ignition, and slumped over the steering wheel.

Rally kicked her door open and leaped out. Buff's insulation had saved them, but the armored body panels at the rear were melted and warped into shapes like dripping candle wax. The thick windows were bowed inwards from the heat and molten glass had trickled down the car's sides. She pulled her jacket up to protect her face and reached into the car to help the occupants out. Bui was still unconscious, and Larry looked shell-shocked. He helped her lift the agent out, careful not to let his body touch the smoking-hot exterior of the car, and together they laid him on the sidewalk. Rally reached out to Larry and embraced him as tightly as she could grasp. He hugged her in return, let out a whoop and kissed her: forehead, cheeks, lips.

Bean stirred and opened his door. His boots hit the pavement and he slowly stood up. With his jacket draped over his shoulders, he limped to the sidewalk, looked at Bui, and at Larry and Rally locked in each other's arms. A grimace passed over his smoke-blackened face. Then he stumbled and nearly fell against the wall of the nearest building. For a moment he rested there with his head on his forearms, his shoulders heaving as he took great gulps of air. Rally leaned back against the wall and breathed with him. The atmosphere was still tinged with smoke, but the deep lungfuls she drew in felt like the sweetest, cleanest breeze she had ever smelled.

People ran towards them, shouting and gesticulating. Nothing they said made sense to her ears. Her legs gave way and she sat down, dizzy and weak. Bean pushed away from the wall and spoke in a low rasp as he worked his burned arms into his jacket.

"OK, babe, you got yer college boy. Delivered safe and sound." She looked up, startled, but he staggered around the corner into an alley and vanished.

The car was surrounded by the crowd. People bent over Bui and put him on a stretcher. Someone knelt and covered Rally's face with an oxygen mask. Larry came over and slid down the wall to sit beside her. Another mask went over his face.

"Rally! Oh, Rally!" May came running and flung herself at Rally, sobbing. Ken hovered behind her, his face tear-streaked but joyous. "We…we came here as soon as we heard about the explosion! They wouldn't let us get past the police lines—oh, Rally, I wanted to help you so much! And I missed the whole thing!"

"Which was damn lucky for you," Rally muttered. She moaned, the pain from her burns growing worse as people touched her skin. May's face came away from hers smeared with soot. "Roy," she said through the mask. "How is Roy?"

Wojohowicz leaned down. "He just arrived at the hospital. We've got to take care of you now, so don't worry about him. Vincent, that was the bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do." She glanced up and around her. "Where's Bean? God, what a man."

"He…left." Rally looked at the wreck of Buff. Bean's pride and joy, now a smoldering ruin in the street. Her head whirled. Was she passing out?

"Don't try to talk. We'll get you out of here." Hands raised her and guided her.

Someone screamed. May. Rally broke free of the supporting hands and turned around. People scattered, running away from the car. Alone at the rear, facing her, stood 426. He drew his Sig and aimed it directly at Rally's heart. A hallucination? Black magic? How the hell had he—

Buff's trunk lid stood open. The assassin's face and hands were as red and blistered as if he had been dropped into boiling water. He had hitched a ride and suffered the effects of the fireball. And his extra weight at the rear of the car, something Bean had not accounted for, had almost killed them all.

Rally tore off the oxygen mask with one hand and automatically reached for her shoulder holster with the other. Empty. Wojohowicz shoved an FBI ten-millimeter into her grasp and she swung it out, but she knew she was too late. Some policemen grabbed for service weapons, but in slow motion as it seemed to Rally. 426's finger tightened on the trigger.

Something round and metallic rolled under his feet. He leaped to avoid it and his shot flew over Rally's head. POP! Pink smoke and glitter burst all over the street. People ran to take cover, hauling Bui and Larry along. 426 spun and aimed at May as she thrust her hand in her jacket again.

Ken shouted and threw himself in front of May, but Rally blew off 426's trigger finger. The Sig went flying. May ducked around the front of the car and lobbed another grenade at 426. "Lisa's coming at you!" she shrilled, and fell flat with her ears covered. Ken rolled over and scrambled into an alley. The grenade flew over Buff and landed behind the open trunk lid. 426 ignored it and started for Rally. She grabbed Wojohowicz and dived into a doorway. 'Lisa'? That meant it was a live one!

WHRAKOOM!

When the shrapnel settled, Rally peered out of the doorway. 426 lay on his face, arms outstretched. She held the ten-millimeter straight out in a two-handed grip and moved closer. The back of his torso was hamburger, his clothes blown away. Most of his right arm was gone, though his lower legs were relatively untouched. Brain tissue was visible through a sizable hole in the back of his skull, and scorched glitter fluttered all around him, speckling his wounds.

Those injuries would have finished any normal man. Still, that didn't count for much where 426 was concerned. She kept the weapon trained on him.

He rolled to his side and looked up at her, the right half of his face destroyed. They locked gazes.

"I thought you were planning to die in there," said Rally. "Your glorious, honorable funeral pyre, or…something. Change your mind?"

"I have attempted more than I could accomplish alone." His voice was strangely calm and his undamaged eye wandered to the ten-millimeter. "I admit defeat, bounty hunter. Do you intend to free my spirit from this body?"

"And send you to your version of paradise? There's a reason I don't shoot to kill unless I have to, Lin Shaoqi. The difference between life and death. If you still don't understand it, I'm sorry." She backed up when he made to rise.

426 heaved to his feet, blood and shreds of flesh dripping and pattering to the ground. May sank to her knees and threw up in the gutter. His Sig lay several yards away, and he moved to pick it up in his one remaining hand. Rally watched in horror, and almost in pity. He took the pistol and held it up as if to shoot himself in the head. She made no move to stop him. But he reversed it and offered it to her, the grip slick with his blood. After a long moment, she took it. He made a deep and formal bow.

"Woman, as a worthy opponent, I offer you honorable warning. I die with my purposes unfulfilled."

426 turned and lurched down the street, leaving a red trail behind him. The onlookers dodged away from his path, grimacing. May huddled against Ken's chest. Rally followed the ruined figure a little way and stopped at the street corner.

Fire streamed from every window again; the blasted facade gaped wide like a consuming mouth. The twin gatehouses had caught fire as well. The pier and warehouse took on the appearance of a crouching dragon.

426 halted at the entrance to the courtyard. The wind that roared into the fire rippled through his remaining hair. He glanced back, then took a running start, whirled and sprang into the air. Straight into the fire. Like a weightless spirit she saw him fly through the curtain of flame.

Had he landed on the other side? Or had he somehow kept going? She imagined him as a bird soaring into the sky on wings of fire. The phoenix burned itself to ashes, and was reborn…

Smith's hand came down on Rally's shoulder as if he meant to draw her away, but she stood stock-still, her hands covered in blood from the pistol she still held. The firelight danced on the water, but the pale dawn overwhelmed it.

All around her, FBI agents and police stood silently. No one seemed able to move for a long time. Even the firefighters leaned on their rigs and stared at the fire. Larry slowly came forward and put his hand on her other shoulder. As they watched, the fire consumed the building. The entire roof fell in with a rending, shuddering crash when the sun rose over the hills to the east of the bay.

"I don't believe in ghosts," she said.


	25. Chapter 25

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty-Five**

"Rally? Are you awake?"

She was, but the very last thing she felt like doing right now was opening her eyes. Rally groaned and turned over, her hospital bed creaking. Sleep? She felt like she hadn't slept in five days. Unless she took a sedative, every time she drifted off her dreams were filled with sirens, screams and flames. Who would want to sleep under those circumstances? Not to mention the nurses who liked to hold loud conversations right outside her room at three in the morning.

"All right, you are awake." May snapped the light on and came into the room. "Hey! Checking out tomorrow?"

"That's the theory." Rally sighed again, knuckled her eyes and sat up. "Oh, God. Not more candy!"

May put a stack of large red and gilt boxes on the foot of the bed. "They asked me to take it in here so they could move around in the nursing station. Should I haul it down to the homeless shelter again?"

"Absolutely. Let 'em eat raspberry mocha truffles. Just give me the cards." She shuffled through the tiny envelopes that May handed her and dumped them into the brimming shoeboxful on her nightstand. Next to it crowded bowls of fruit and a pyramid of oranges studded with joss sticks.

"Getting a little tired of the attention, oh valiant rescuer?"

"The Sams have been wonderful to me, May. I haven't eaten one bite of hospital food the whole six days—it's all been delicious restaurant meals and snacks and desserts and everything, hand-delivered piping hot." She gestured at the tray of open take-out boxes on her rolling bed table. "They're sweet people, and of course they're grateful to me on Larry's account. But this whole hero-worship thing gets old fast! Do I have to gain ten pounds on chocolate and wontons before I can get the hell out of here? I'm as antsy as a cat on hot bricks!"

"If you're venting, you must feel better! You look good." May reached out and touched Rally's cheek. "The peeling's pretty much stopped, and your voice sounds better than yesterday."

"Yeah, the acupuncturist came in again...I'm amazed." Rally felt her throat. "Those little needles actually seem to do something."

"Of course they do! Oh, here's that lotion I promised you." She took a small package out of her purse. "I've been shopping up a storm—I can't wait to show you my stash! And I've got a surprise visitor for you!"

"You do?" Rally sat up straighter and adjusted her brand new embroidered silk pajamas. For an instant she hoped—knowing it was impossible—that the visitor was Bean. May came to the hospital every day and sometimes stayed for hours. The Sams and their vast circle of friends showered her with gifts and effusive praise. Smith and Wojohowicz had dropped in several times, officially for debriefing but mostly to slap her on the back and tell war stories. She did not lack for company and conversation in the least: rather the reverse. But the one person she truly longed to talk to had not once set a size-fifteen boot in the door of her hospital room.

"Come on in—she's decent!" May called out the open door. She heard a squeaking noise, and a left foot entered, propped up on an extended wheelchair rest. Then the rest of Roy rolled in pushed by an orderly, smiling, but with dressings covering his nose and the side of his neck. A fiberglass cast held his wounded leg out straight. His scorched hair had been buzzed short, and he was clean-shaven under the bandages.

"Roy!" Rally leaped out of bed and ran over to hug him. The orderly parked the chair and left. "Gosh, you look so different without your beard! You sexy beast! Fifteen years younger, I swear!"

Roy laughed and fingered his chin. "Sure, sure. Pour on the flattery—it's better than antibiotics. But I think I'm going to grow the fuzz back just to keep you girls from making Mrs. Coleman jealous."

"When's she flying in to take you home? How's your leg? Does it hurt? May said they put a pin in the bone! You got discharged _already_? You took a much worse beating than I did!"

"Not quite. I've been transferred over here...just in time to see you walk out the door, I guess. You're looking great, kid—I've been getting all the updates from Minnie-May. But I need microsurgery to take out some stuff that the blast embedded in my skin, and the specialist is at this hospital."

"Oh, Roy." Rally sat down and took his hand. "We were so lucky to come out of this alive..."

"Don't I know it." They were silent for a moment, and Roy went on. "You know that Patrolman White you were worried about, with the spinal injury? He's up and walking—he was on my ward. I gave him your best."

"Thanks, Roy. That's wonderful." Bean had caused the crash that had almost paralyzed Patrolman White. Just because the FBI acknowledged a debt to him in saving the life of an agent didn't clear his name with the SFPD. Frankly, for the average cop that probably made it worse. For a long time to come San Francisco streets would stay red-hot for Bean Bandit.

"Some more packages came for you, miss!" The duty nurse walked through the door with a double handful of shopping bags.

"Oh, MAN!" Rally buried her face in her hands and drummed her feet. "This is so embarrassing! I know they mean well, but..."

"It's OK, Ral." May took the bags from the nurse and peered inside. "I'll take them to the hotel and you can check them out later. Hey, that one looks kinda—"

"No! Don't tell me! I don't want anyone to give me another present as long as I live! I'm swimming in new clothes and jade jewelry and little porcelain knickknacks. I gave a bunch away to the nurses, but I swear, I could open a thrift store and get rich off this stuff! How am I supposed to schlep it all home?"

Roy chuckled. "You should see how many neckties and pairs of cufflinks I've scored. Larry Sam came to see me yesterday, by the way...for once, without six or eight family members along for the ride."

"Oh, he came to see me too when he was discharged. Couldn't get a word in edgewise around Vanessa, though! What did he want to say?"

"Among other things, the most auspicious date for the banquet has been fixed. You should be getting your invite tomorrow."

Rally fell back on the bed and made a face at the ceiling. "Oh, yeah. The banquet."

"If you think you're embarrassed by the gifts and encomiums now..."

"I'll have to have a few stiff drinks to get through a whole evening in a room packed with well-wishers!" She sat up. "Are you going to make it, Roy? You can give me moral support!"

"I don't know, kid." He grinned. "Maybe, if I feel up to it. My wife's coming tomorrow. As soon as the docs give the OK, I'm on a plane home."

"You lucky dog. I have to stay until the wing-ding—there's no way I can blow this off, can I? They are such nice people..."

"I'll be there, Ral." May finished packing up the gifts and candy. "Don't worry, you won't have to face the hordes alone."

"Thank you! How about Ken?"

"Well, he's got a job in Los Angeles—he scared up a special effects gig for a war movie. He's leaving this afternoon. He's got to make every buck he can with Junior on the way! So...I'm planning to stick with you until the banquet, and then I'm heading south to stay with Ken until the job's finished. Maybe for a month or two."

"Oh." Rally looked down. "I'll drive you down to L.A., of course. But I guess I am going to have to get home and open up the store before I go bankrupt. I'll miss you..."

"I'll miss you too, honey." They embraced. Roy cleared his throat.

"I have to get back to my room in a little while, kids. They're prepping me in an hour. Minnie, will you give me a moment with Rally?"

May looked slightly startled. "Uh...OK. I guess I'm going anyway. Bye! I'll be back after Ken goes to the airport." She gathered up the shopping bags, gave Roy a kiss on the cheek and departed.

Roy slowly turned his wheelchair to face Rally, his face looking strained under the dressings and his healing burns.

"Roy, really...how are you? You've got to be pretty uncomfortable."

"Yeah." He took his hands off the wheels and folded his arms. "The burns are mostly good—they weren't deep. This leg is not real happy, and they haven't finished fixing it up yet. I'm looking at six or eight months away from my desk."

"Oh, my gosh. Will your disability pay cover everything or not?"

"Most of it. I was injured on the job. Only problem is the out-of-state medical provider and the flight home. My insurance doesn't spring for things like that. I'm probably going to owe fifteen grand out of pocket."

"Oh, Roy! I'll take up a collection for you."

He shook his head. "From what I hear, the guys who really need a hand are the ones who were closer to the blast, and a couple of the cops who survived their gunshot wounds. The people who died almost had it easy."

Rally grimaced and covered her mouth.

"We're talking second and third-degree burns over seventy percent of the body. Blast injuries and amputated limbs and massive skin grafts." Roy held out one hand and turned it palm up to examine its lines. "I'll walk after a few weeks of rehab. Some of them may never get out of bed again."

"That's horrible."

"I'm not even mentioning the widows and orphans. 426 left his mark on this city, all right. But since the last of the Dragon hierarchy is either dead or out of the country, and their American assets were liquidated, there's nothing to make a claim against."

"Their assets? But the treasure from the boat...?"

"Oh, a good lawyer might be able to pry some of the seizures out of the FBI. Once they've legally established that it was all owned by the Eight Dragon Triad or its members and associates, once they've established it was obtained with drug money, once it's been catalogued and valued and auctioned off. Two, three years, maybe, and it will be split a lot of ways. The local police and firefighter's foundations are going to have to empty out their coffers in the mean time. There's going to be nothing left for anyone else."

"Jesus! What about Brown? Can't they track the bastard down and find him liable for something?"

"That might fit the bill, if anyone could find the slightest trace of him. Wherever he vanished to, he seems to have taken a lot of his money along." Roy gave her a stony look. "However, we do know who already got his hands on twelve million dollars plus of cold hard Dragon cash."

"Yes, I suppose we do." Rally looked down at her intertwined fingers. Roy let the statement settle for a minute, apparently waiting for her to speak, then let out a sigh.

"Well, like I said, Larry came to see me alone. We talked a good long time. He's a well-set-up young man."

"I know. Smart. And tougher than I gave him credit for. That cute face isn't the whole story." Rally smiled faintly and put her arms around her knees.

"His family helps reinforce him, I think, but a lot of it is plain old personal strength. He absorbed a lot of punishment and came out all right. I was impressed."

"OK..." She knew what was coming, something she dreaded having to deal with. Couldn't she just avoid the question entirely? But perhaps it was better to talk about it now, before anything slipped out in front of Larry's family and friends. The last thing she wanted to do was break someone's heart...

"As I said before, I'm not your dad. You've got a dad, even if he's not around. But I guess I was the available substitute as far as young Mr. Sam was concerned."

"Are you saying he asked your consent?"

"Something like that. Or for a recommendation, if I cared to give it. He does know his own advantages, but he's not the kind to flaunt them. Rally, I don't think any woman could do better than Larry Sam. Even if he didn't feel the way he does about you—"

"Oh, God. Please." She yanked the sheet over her face for a moment. "He told you that?"

"In a polite and reticent Chinese fashion, yes. He also asked me if I thought there was anything in the way. Anything he could reassure you about, or help you with. I admit I kind of choked on that one."

Rally hung her head and stared at the floor. For several moments Roy remained silent, frowning.

"I gather that's still in the way, then. A damn big obstacle, too—about six foot seven inches high, if I don't miss my guess. What I want to know is, is he putting himself in the way, or have you put him there yourself?"

"I don't know where he stands, Roy. I haven't had any contact with him since the rescue. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't call him. They found his cell phone in Buff's driver's seat."

Roy's expression lightened slightly. "All right."

"Look, he's paid off his debts with interest. He's proved he's not just a mercenary hood." She spoke hurriedly to override Roy's obvious desire to object. "At the very least, he's got qualities I never suspected until recently. Will you give him that, at least?"

"Fine, he's packing grapefruits, and he's willing to do some pretty crazy things for you. I misjudged him at one point...because he operates well outside the law. He's not worthless, and he's not...an evil man. But for God's sake, Irene. How in hell can you set Bean Bandit up against a guy like Larry Sam?"

Roy didn't often call her Irene. Her father used her real name sometimes, though he had taken to addressing her as Rally to convey his admiration for her chosen profession. Rally bit her lips. "I can't, Roy. It wouldn't make any sense. Sometimes these things don't have much to do with common sense."

"OK. I won't badger you. I haven't got the endurance right now, anyway. I thought you ought to think about it, that's all. Don't dismiss him out of hand or think of him as some green civilian. He could handle what you do for a living and maybe even give you backup."

"Backup? Larry? Roy, he runs a restaurant!"

"Yeah, but he's also signed up at a shooting range. Smith gave him a character reference to help him apply for a concealed carry permit." Roy smiled to one side. "I think he's developing a healthy interest in self-defense."

"And no wonder. Don't worry, I won't just blow him off. After all, he IS pretty cute!" She gave Roy a playful smile.

After Roy left, Rally turned out the light and tossed and turned. Too many things on her mind...all right, MEN on her mind. The nurses were gossiping right outside her door again. Maybe she should watch some TV and forget about trying to rest no matter how tired she felt. No, she should ask for a sleeping pill so the noisy kaffeeklatsch would break up! Didn't those girls have some work to do? She rolled her eyes and reached for the call button.

"Oh, did you see him too?" a nurse said out in the hallway. "God knows what he's up to."

"He's a pervert," said another nurse. "He's one of those parking-lot rapists. Make sure you get a security guard to walk you to your car. They posted something in the staff room."

Rally listened carefully, her heartbeat quickening. Someone staking out the hospital? A last remnant of the Dragon thug squad?

"Has he tried anything yet?" said a third voice. "He's been around for four or five nights now, hasn't he? I haven't heard that anyone got attacked."

Brown was still a factor, and Brown could certainly want her dead or maimed. Could he have decided to put in his oar at last? An FBI security detail checked all her visitors in and out, but that might not make a lot of difference to a pro hitman. Rally gritted her teeth. She should have asked May to smuggle in another weapon, because all she had with her was her mini .22. She reached under her pillow to retrieve the small gun and checked the load for comfort, lying on her side and drawing up her knees to hide what she was doing in case anyone actually answered that call button.

"I don't know. You'd think you'd hear about it if he did. Where is he hanging out, anyway?"

"I spotted him behind the dumpsters at the back of the surgical wing. But Maria says he was sitting in a car way out at the end of the parking lot when she went for her break." Lower, confidential in tone. "He keeps changing his M.O., but it has to be the same guy—that monster jawbone isn't something you see every day."

Rally jerked upright in bed.

"No kidding! And built like a gorilla! He looked totally scary—no wonder he has to lurk in parking lots to get women!" A burst of nervous laughter.

"So why aren't they doing anything? Can't security arrest him or something?"

"Well, they went to try to check him out a couple of times and they've called 911, but he always drives away before anyone gets too near. Somebody said his car was a 'Vette. Something really expensive. He must have stolen it. So watch out for an old Corvette."

Rally's stomach roiled. She put the gun away and lay down again, holding her middle.

"You bet I will! Man, I hope they catch him! What a creep, huh?"

"Total creep. This is giving me the shivers, you know?"

"Same here, girlfriend."

Despite the two sleeping pills she took Rally stared at the ceiling all afternoon, wide awake.

* * *

Rally couldn't recall ever getting a standing ovation, much less a standing ovation from a room full of FBI agents. May giggled and hugged her around the waist while everyone lined up to shake her hand, still applauding. "Congratulations!"

"Uh...thanks, guys. I appreciate it." Rally sank into a chair and grabbed for a cup of coffee when Wojohowicz handed it to her. "But really..." The applause finally stopped and she gulped the coffee. "How's Agent Bui?"

Smith sat down next to her, and all the agents pulled out chairs around the conference table. "Bui's recuperating at home. He'll be fine—don't worry about him. Looking good, Miss Rally. All fixed up?"

"Sure, sure. Maybe I'm not up for street duty yet, but I'm OK." She sighed and slumped down in her chair, then held up her cup for a refill.

"Glad to hear it. Can you handle some news?"

Rally sat up straight. "What? Another one of the victims died?"

"No, nothing like that, thank Christ." He gave an odd smile, half amused and half ashamed. "The girls are gone."

May's mouth dropped open. "Girls? The Brown girls?"

"You got it. Flew the coop at two o'clock this morning. Let's just say the FBI had its mind on other matters." Smith rolled his eyes. Wojohowicz passed the coffee with a studiously straight face. "Nobody thought to pull their passports. They slipped out of the hotel and took a cab to the airport. They're en route to Zurich as we speak."

"They just hopped on a plane? Can't you have them intercepted when they land?"

"On what grounds? Since the only thing Mrs. Brown might be held liable for is her hubby's little tax evasion problem, the Swiss won't cough them up. We've seen the last of those little ladies. So have you girls deduced how this escape was planned?" Smith smiled puckishly. "I'm surprised you haven't interrupted me yet with a complete rundown."

Rally and May looked at each other and shrieked. "That phone call the other night! Brown got through to Tiffany and her mother!"

Smith pointed a finger at her. "Bingo. Setting it up, obviously. He made it to Europe, and there's going to be a family reunion. But there's a bright side to that."

"You're going to try to find Brown through his family."

"Yep. His wife doesn't know it, but she's leading us straight to his hidey-hole. Interpol will keep tabs on her whereabouts, and the State Department is getting in on the search. The Director is coordinating with Central Intelligence, and that's saying something. We'll nail Brown to the wall. Even the Swiss will let us extradite him for drug trafficking and murder!"

Rally smiled and rubbed her hands, and then the penny dropped. "Wait a minute. His wife couldn't have wanted to go back to him!"

"Hey, he snuck a fortune out of the country. Why wouldn't she stick with the bastard?"

"No way." She looked at Wojohowicz for support. "Brown was abusing her. She knows better than anyone else that he's a scumbag! Even if she hadn't already given birth to another man's child, no woman could be that dumb!"

"You'd hope not," said May, looking a little pale. "What if he found out whose daughter she really was?"

Wojohowicz shrugged. "But if she does point us to Brown it would be the first real break we've had in the search. We're going through the phone tapes to find the conversation. Should prove it one way or another when we do, if it wasn't in a personal code."

"Got it." An agent stuck his head in the door of the conference room.

"Brown's call? Thanks, that was fast work." The agents got up and collected their pads and laptops.

"Yeah, come and give it a listen. But you're not going to believe this, sir."

"Why wouldn't I?" said Smith with a furrowed brow.

* * *

"I don't believe this," said Smith. He took off his headphones and tossed them on a table. "Get Manny in here."

Rally scratched her chin to cover up a smile. "Makes sense though, doesn't it?"

"I knew it all along," said May with a superior air. "Who else? After all, the only call that wasn't accounted for came from this building!"

"That sly bastard. I'm going to pestiferate him." The door opened and Manichetti shambled in, accompanied by two agents. "Yes, you, you son of a bitch." Smith stood up and leaned forward; Manichetti flinched.

"What's the matter, boss? What'd I do?"

May grinned and propped her face on her hands. "Oh, nothing much. We just found out who called Tiffany and used his funny voice."

He flushed to the jowls. "Uh...funny voice?"

"You did, of course. You called Mrs. Brown's hotel room and set up the trip to Switzerland. Then she put Tiffany on the line and you talked to her. With the 'funny voice'. Right?"

"Right," whispered Manichetti.

"And just why did you do that, Manny?" Rally tapped her fingers together.

"Mr. Brown never called her once," said Manichetti, his head low. "Not once from Thailand or Frisco or Chicago or anywhere he went. So I would call her, see? I'd say it was Daddy and disguise my voice so she wouldn't catch on."

"But you were doing Sly's bidding, right?" Smith turned purple. "He's relaying messages through you! You've been in contact with him, God knows how—"

Manichetti slowly shook his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. "I AM her real daddy, remember? I don't need no instructions to get my girls safe."

"What? You mean they're not going to meet up with Brown in Switzerland?"

He shook his head again, a grim expression on his heavy features.

Smith let out a growl and sat down. "Well, thanks for sending us on a wild goose chase. Looks like we are back to square one as far as Brown's whereabouts go."

"Of course," said Rally with a bright smile, "there's always the possibility of beating it out of Manny."

Smith sprang from his chair, rounded the table, grabbed Manichetti by the front of his shirt and jerked him upright so that they stood nose to nose. For a long moment Smith stared at him, his steel-blue gaze locked to Manichetti's rapidly blinking brown eyes.

"Where is he, Manny?" He spoke in a soft and dangerous tone. "We are going to get to the bottom of this no matter how deep it goes, understand? You might as well tell us now—you are already due for a nice term in federal prison, and I can always recommend that your parole dates be put off until you're eighty." He shoved Manichetti into a chair and stood over him. "So think about it. Where is Sly Brown?"

"Where is he?" Manichetti repeated.

"Where did you take him?" Rally felt nearly as much impatience as Smith showed. "Where's he hiding, and why hasn't he contacted anyone? Why can't the FBI find a trace of him? Has he gone that deep underground?" She and Smith loomed over Manichetti, who shrank down in his chair.

"No...look, let me just tell you how it went, huh?" He gave a weak shrug. "You ain't gonna understand unless I do that. From the beginning, OK?"

"If you must." Rally propped a hip on the corner of the table. "Not from the moment of birth, though, please."

"Nah. Just kinda, from when you came into it."

"Perfect." She held up a hand and grimaced.

Manichetti creased his brow and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "OK. We all went to Chicago, and we were sweatin' bullets, because we knew 426 was after Mr. Brown's ass. Well, not exactly—"

"Yes, I know 426 was gay. But he didn't like Brown at all, did he?"

"Hated his frickin' guts. 426 said once that he was incontinent—did I pronounce that right? I looked it up."

"That's a good word," said Rally. "Kind of covers it all. 426 was a judge of character, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, I guess he was. I ain't congratulated you yet on you toastin' his ass for him, miss." Manichetti grinned and put out a hand.

"Thanks," said Rally, not moving to shake it. "Brown?"

"Well...yeah. Getting back to Sly Brown—the flamin' asshole."

"That's how he treated the people around him?"

Manichetti showed his teeth and looked up at the ceiling. "You notice, me and Tom were the only ones who stuck with him all through? Tom was wanted in Ireland and lots of places in the US. Not just the old Provo stuff. Had this habit of doin' bad things to women, everywhere he went. Mr. Brown would bail him out and pay off who had to get paid off. Tom was nuts about him, too. He'd get drunk and tell me what he wanted to do with the boss—really made me sick."

"So Brown must have had a hold on you, too. Not the same one he had on O'Toole, but just as strong." said May.

"Yeah. Me, I got in dutch with the Gambinos. I, uh, I got caught with my capo's daughter—she was twenty already and she never got let out of the house, and I was a driver for her daddy, always coming around, and she hit on me." Manichetti rubbed his neck and rolled his eyes. "Her mama saw us. Like, in flagrant delicto, whatever. I ran, and Mr. Brown scooped me up. Paid a bunch of money to the family and held that over my head for six years, every chance he got. He'd curse me out and call me an ugly bastard, and he did the same to everyone he could get away with doing it to. Like his wife." Manichetti's lips compressed; Rally saw more emotion in his face than he'd betrayed before. "I'd hear him in the bedroom, callin' her a homely bitch, and that she couldn't do anything, and she'd be out on the streets without him."

"Which is why you got to father a kid on her." Rally blew out her cheeks. "With a husband like that..."

"But his daughter—well, your daughter, whatever—he does love her, right?" prompted May. "He didn't treat Tiffany like crap, did he?"

"No, she was Daddy's girl all right..." Manichetti twisted his fingers together and looked a little pale. "But let me tell it in order. So you know how it went."

"Go ahead," said Smith.

"OK...uh, Chicago. Chicago didn't work out too good. Mr. Brown blew it bad with Bandit. We knew—me and Tom did—as soon as he got back from the drive to New York. I saw his face, and he was still trying, and Bandit was not having any of it. We were sunk, I knew. We'd put the shipment through, but that was peanuts. It was Bandit they wanted."

"Oh, Bean's a hot commodity, all right!" May giggled and kicked Rally's chair.

"Mr. Brown had been real confident about nabbing the big guy. He'd got Tom with no trouble, and me too, and other guys who left a lot sooner than we did. Real good at getting people to hire on—it was keeping them he had trouble with."

"He should have found something to hold over Bean's head, I guess..." Rally trailed off, examining her dark reflection in the conference room's windows.

"We got out of Chicago fast, and when we heard that Bandit was on our trail, I just about soaked my shorts. We knew he'd find us, so we set up the meeting at the warehouse with Tom in the rafters. Thought that would do it, because Tom don't miss in a case like that. You barged in and kinda messed things up."

"Yeah, I did." Rally smiled and Smith rolled his eyes.

"But we got out, thanks to Tom, and we beat it north soon as we could. Mr. Brown called Agent Smith to get the dope on you."

"Is that right, Pete?" Rally batted her eyelashes at him. "You ratted me out to a nasty ol' drug dealer?"

Smith shrugged. "If you want to put it that way, yes, I did. I called the Chicago office and got some background. Seems they like you all right over there."

"Aw, that's nice to hear. So Brown realized right off that I was a factor? Pretty sharp of him. What did he decide to do about me, Manny?"

"He figured he should work on you, because you could not be nearly the hardcase Bandit was, and go from there. You know this part, I guess, except that he was planning to run to Europe the whole time. He wouldn't have testified."

"Son of a bitch," said Smith. "He danced with us for months! Just keeping plenty of irons in the fire?"

"That's right, boss. He just wanted to use Miss Vincent to gum up the works enough that you guys couldn't nab him. Then...he got a good look at her."

"What? Me?" Rally pointed to herself.

"He thought you were...a nice piece." Manichetti shrugged apologetically. "He saw Bandit liked you and he never saw something another guy wanted that he wouldn't steal out from under his nose. So he moved in on you. He was going to dump me and Tom. He figured he'd passed off his family to the FBI and if the Dragons killed them he'd blame the government and that would be a reason they wouldn't go after him."

"And you say he _loved_ that kid?" asked Rally, appalled.

"As much as he could love anybody, I guess." Again Manichetti looked pale and preoccupied. "He was still treatin' her like his little baby doll."

"What do you mean, still?" Smith's eyes narrowed.

Manichetti didn't speak for a minute or two, his mouth working. Something huge was weighing on him, Rally realized; she could form only dim guesses of its nature as yet. Something to do with Tiffany, obviously. Her welfare was the only thing that could stir his sluggish nature to action.

"I...I didn't have a choice about working for him, so I made the best of it. I helped him all I could...until..."

"Six years of abuse and ol' Manny finally cracks?" Smith laughed.

"Don't matter what happens to me. I'd'a stayed with him and took all the insults he wanted to throw my way. Rest of my life if I had to. I'd give her my life, you know." Manichetti closed his eyes. "My baby girl."

Rally blinked in confusion and Smith tapped his fingers on the table. May sat up straighter.

"I took care of 'em, more than Brown ever did. He left it all to me. Even when he was in the country he was out at night doing his coke deals. I was like, the man of the household." Manichetti appealed to May. "I did everything that the man would do. Fix the squeak in the door and unstop the toilet and wake up in the middle of the night and get the kid a glass of water. I took the girls to the malls and the beach and Disneyland. I hired the tutor for Tiffany and I got some kids to come play with her because Mr. Brown wouldn't hear of her going to school."

"I hope he regrets it someday," remarked May.

"I dunno about that," said Manichetti. "But anyway, when he couldn't get Miss Vincent to do what he wanted, he went with another plan. He always had six or eight ways of dealing with anything, to confuse the opposition. Decided to fake his death and let you take the blame." He gestured to Rally.

"What? How? Does this have something to do with—oh, God. The bullets! My bullets in his leg!"

"You figured that one out, miss? He'd put a body in the bay, someone like him, all burned and with a slug of yours in the head and frame you for his murder. He thought, since it was summer, it'd come to the surface in a couple weeks or less. We didn't exactly get around to that, but that's how it was gonna go."

Smith shook his head. "Nah. DNA testing would have blown that."

"His DNA isn't on file anywhere. He didn't leave any personal stuff around the house, so they couldn't get it from that. Tom thought the whole pier would burn to the waterline and wreck anything like bloodstains. And anyhow, the idea was to give him some breathing space and get Miss Vincent in deep crap for a while. Didn't matter if it didn't hold up forever."

"I WAS in deep crap for a while! Nice to know it was in a good cause." Rally threw up her hands.

"Wouldn't he have worried about a blood sample from Tiffany?" said May. "He didn't know she wasn't his."

"I suppose he didn't think they'd find her. Either she'd be in Switzerland...or the Dragons would get her."

"Such a nice guy," said Smith. "So let's get to the point. Where did you take him? To Los Angeles? Where is he now?"

"Where is he?" said Manichetti in a low voice. "Not in California, no. Not even in the United States."

Rally let out an angry breath. "You mean he's sitting pretty in a lounge chair on the Riviera with a tan and a mixed drink. Boy, he must love the shopping opportunities."

"No, he ain't in Europe."

"Then where?"

Manichetti paused for a long moment. "I went out into the bay."

"The bay?" Smith jerked a thumb in the general direction of San Francisco Bay. "Thought you went out the Golden Gate with that cruiser."

"The Monterey Bay, I mean. Down south, eighty miles or so. I headed down the coast and got out to sea. I couldn't see the land any more."

"Out of sight of land," repeated Smith. "Do you mean...a ship? Did he get picked up by a ship? Taken to China or Taiwan?"

"No, no ship. No vessels in sight. I made sure of that."

"Oh...holy...shit..." Smith started to look sick. May went as pale as sea foam. Rally gripped the armrests of her chair.

Manichetti raised his head and looked to the west, his expression dark and abstract. "I went out past where the shelf drops off, to the deep water, and where the currents don't go onshore. There's this big fricking undersea canyon right off the coast. They say anything falls in that hole, it goes all the way down to the bed of the ocean—right into the international waters, and it stays there. I looked it up."

"Did you?" Rally whispered.

"I don't know whose laws apply out there. That wasn't the point. I just didn't want him to be found." His face twitched and he looked down. "He'll be safe out there. No country, no people. No one will ever find him now."

"Did you just take him out there and push him overboard?" Smith slowly rose from his chair.

"God, no. Let him struggle and drown and all?" Manichetti looked deeply offended. "I ain't no goddamn sadist. Shot him through the heart first."

"Holy crap." Smith sat down with a thump.

Manichetti went on, his eyes still distant. "I cut the engine and I woke up Mr. Brown and took him out on deck and I said we had gotten to where we were going. He looked sort of surprised when he didn't see any lights on the horizon. It was really dark, nothing but stars, but I had a light on in the cabin.

"I didn't give him warning, because I didn't want him talking to me, maybe talking me out of it. It had to get done. I took out my Beretta and I put two rounds clean through his chest, bam bam. I was holding him up 'cause he couldn't walk with the slugs in his leg. He sorta sagged with my arm around him and he gave me this look, like his feelings were sort of hurt, and then he fell on his face and he died.

"But you know, he said 'Tiffany' first, and I busted out crying for some damn reason." Manichetti's beefy face worked and tears crawled down his cheeks. "He said her name and he died quick. He didn't suffer. I emptied out his pockets and put a couple diving belts around his waist so he'd sink fast. I picked him up in my arms and I was crying like a fool and I slipped him overboard and watched him vanish in the dark. I said a rosary for him and I started up the engine again. I steered back inshore and I tied up in Santa Cruz in the morning."

"I gather we are talking about the cabin cruiser that is sitting in my warehouse at this very moment," said Smith, his face gray. "The boat that Bean Bandit left in front of the Federal Building, full of Dragon treasure."

"Yeah. I let 426 know where it was and they took it back to Frisco."

"I walked over that deck a dozen times while we were unloading it." He rounded on Manichetti. "Didn't shake you any when the scene of the crime turned up on a trailer, did it? You cold-blooded bastard."

"I ain't denying nothing." Manichetti slumped backwards, a peculiar smile spreading over his face. It looked like relief, but it was mixed with both guilt and triumph. "I sluiced the deck with a lot of seawater on the way in, but I guess the bloodstains'll show up if it gets tested. I don't care anyhow."

"But WHY?" Rally gestured in frustration. "Just because Brown was a bastard and you were her real father? Tiffany worshipped him. Were you that jealous of her affection?"

"Wouldn't put it quite that way, miss."

May spoke quietly, examining her fingernails. "Did you know that Brown went to child brothels in Thailand?"

Smith and Rally stared at her.

"I had my suspicions. Didn't know for sure until 426 said so." He looked up at them with an expression that gave Rally a shiver.

May met his gaze. "You were afraid that his...incontinence...would extend to her."

"No." Manichetti slowly shook his head. "I was positive it would. Dead cert. I knew he wasn't, not yet, but I knew he was going to when he decided to." His teeth clicked together and he stared into space, his jaw trembling. "I couldn't let that happen to her. But she's safe now, my little gal..."

"Your little gal." said Rally after a very long silence. "You did it for your daughter."

"Yep," replied Manichetti, closing his eyes with a weary nod and a smile. "My baby girl, and her mama."

May and Rally looked at each other.

"She wouldn't get no abortion, because she loves me. Ol' Sly never thought twice about it anyway. Never would have occurred to him, no sir. Not his ugly-ass driver, who he always left in charge while he was outta town. Guess I showed him, hey?" He laughed with a ghoulish edge. "It don't matter any more." Looking up at Smith, he held out his wrists, palms upward and his fingers doubled under. "You going to do the honors, Agent?"

"Giambattista Manichetti, you are under arrest," said Smith in a dead, flat tone, "for the murder of Sylvester Gaius Brown. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you may say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to representation from a lawyer..."

_"Giambattista?"_ muttered Rally.

"Yeah, that's Italian for John the Baptist." Smith finished Mirandizing him, took out his cuffs and locked them around Manichetti's wrists with a snap. "Why the fuck do ya think everybody calls me 'Manny'? My mama called me Johnny."

"State of California's got jurisdiction on the murder rap," said Smith, not looking pleased. "But we'll hang on to you as long as we can. Come on, wise guy." He turned to the door, taking Manichetti's elbow.

"John the Baptist?" May looked confused. "Wasn't he in some movie?"

"He went around throwing water on people. Then he got his head cut off because of a woman."

"I'm going to go barf in the ladies's toilet," said May, getting up with a hand on her belly. "Then I want to go back to the hotel and take a shower."

* * *

"So can we go see Roy today?" Rally looked up from her seat on May's bed when the bathroom door opened. "He's going to want to hear about Brown straight from us."

"I guess he would. He's got his wife for company now, but we can probably get hold of him." May wrapped a towel around her wet hair and picked up her room phone. "Hey, tiger! How are you feeling? Oh, really? Sure—I have your suitcase in my room. Should I bring it to the hospital? Hey, that would be great! We'll treat you to lunch!" She hung up and turned to Rally. "Roy's on outpatient status now. We can have him for the afternoon."

"Yeah, that would be nice." Rally lay down on May's bedspread and looked up at the light fixture. "Say, when we changed rooms..."

"Yes?"

"You had it hidden under a ceiling panel. What did you do with it?"

"With what? Oh—that!" May giggled. "I was wondering when you'd decide to take a peek in there! Curiosity finally get the better of you?"

"I don't think the FBI is going to nail us for swiping it now. Anyway...I want to go through it with Roy."

"Brown's folder on Bean? Why?"

"Well...just to fill in the blanks. I think Roy needs to know more about Bean. So do I—"

"Of course he wants to know more about Bean—he's a cop! You want to help the Chicago PD arrest him?" May stood with arms akimbo and a startled look on her face.

"Uh...well, what if I told Roy this was just a personal thing? That the info ought to stay in this room? It wouldn't be fair to use this against Bean. It's just to answer a few questions."

"You think he'd go for that?"

"I don't know. If the alternative was not looking at the folder at all, maybe he would..."

Rally wondered if she should apply that logic to herself. Would this information—hard facts, black on white—reduce Bean to something less than he seemed? Make him definable, controllable, explicable? Something like the fugitive information sheet she had helped the FBI put together. Brown's information might lie at the root of Brown's outlook: that people were only tools and a means to an end. Machines with an instruction manual, something you could use as you pleased, wear out and discard. She recalled that Bean had once said something like that to her; she was far from immune.

"...Sometimes I wonder if we ought to just burn it. It wasn't honestly obtained, or for a good purpose."

"Well...I guess the cops have their street rules too. There's admissible evidence, and then there's things you know but don't act on." May still looked skeptical. "If you do show it to Roy, be careful. You shouldn't shove all this juicy stuff under his nose and then beg him to keep it a secret. He's not going to appreciate a guilt trip from you."

"I don't even know if it's juicy."

"Then let's find out. Or burn it if you like, but that seems like a lot of trouble for nothing." May returned to the bathroom and climbed up on the toilet seat. In a minute she returned with the folder still in the zipperlock bag. A thin cloud of dust puffed up from it when she tossed it on the bed next to Rally. "There you go."

Rally didn't move to pick it up. It lay on the bedspread beside her, thick and black and mysterious. Maybe mystery had its advantages. She rolled over and got up. May sat at the table and sorted a stack of developed pictures she had picked up at a drugstore that morning. When she found a shot she liked, she inserted it into a slot in an album she had bought. Rally came over to help and to look at the pictures May had taken while she was in the hospital.

"Man, these ones are all out of order!" May held up a fan of amusement-park shots. "Have you been looking at them?"

"Yeah, but I didn't mess them up—oh, it must have been Bean."

"Bean? Oh, right—when you kept him in your room! And he swept you off your feet before he came to rescue me and Tiffany like a knight in shining—"

"Not exactly off my feet! He kissed me precisely one time." She rose from her chair, feeling restless. "That's all it was, OK? I didn't see him again until he rolled up to the pier."

"Woohoohoo..." May cackled and kept sorting photos. "Hey, where's that one of you?"

"Which one of me?"

"The one I was going to have enlarged? With your hair blowing in the wind?" May looked on the table. "No, these are all the roll before that. It ought to be in this stack." Her brows went up. "Bean was looking at these, huh? I guess he liked that one too!"

"What?"

"It's gone, Ral." She glanced up with a grin. "He snagged the best picture of you."

"This is SO embarrassing!" shrieked Rally, collapsing flat on the bed and hiding her head with her hands. "Now he's stealing your snapshots!"

"Oh, I've still got the negative! I can get more copies." May laughed. "You think he'd like one of the enlargements?"

Rally pounded her feet and fists against the mattress. "Oooohh!"

"You sure get ticked off by compliments these days. What's really eating you?"

"Why wouldn't I be embarrassed? Getting all the credit—and the piles of presents—for rescuing Larry and Bui, when...when..."

"When half of that credit ought to go to someone else?"

Closing her eyes, Rally let out a shaky breath that veered halfway to a sob.

"Ral, I don't think Bean WANTS credit. That's not what he's in business for. I doubt his feelings are hurt."

"But he WAS hurt." Rally rolled over and put her face in her palms. "He looked terrible—he was burned just as much as I was if not more, and he must have breathed a lot of smoke, and you saw what happened to his car! That operation cost him a hell of a lot..."

"Hurt?" May put her album down with a thump. "You think he might not be...all right?"

"No, he's OK."

"How do you know? Oh man—he finally called you?" May's face lit up.

"I haven't heard a word. But he was hanging around the hospital parking lot after dark most of last week. Some nurses were discussing a prowler, and it was Bean."

May came over and sat down beside Rally. "Bean watched the hospital while you were there? Five or six nights in a row?"

She nodded, still hiding her face against the bedspread.

"Well." May patted Rally's back. For once she didn't seem inclined to tease. "I guess he hadn't heard anything either."

"I want to talk to him. Just once would be fine! Why doesn't he call me? I...I need to explain."

"Explain what?" May's strong little fingers kneaded her tense neck muscles and worked down her spine. Rally slumped down to relax into the pillow.

"A-about Larry, and that I'm sorry about Buff, and I really appreciate how he dropped in to help...oh boy, does THAT sound inadequate. I don't know. Maybe a phone conversation just wouldn't cut the mustard. Once I see him face to face—if I see him—maybe then I'll know what I want to say."

"Maybe you will," said May, still massaging her back with a soothing touch.

* * *

"You STOLE THIS FROM THE FBI?" Roy screamed. His wheelchair rattled with his volume. "Are you INSANE!"

"Gosh, calm down!" May shook her head in reproof. "You're a long way from well!"

"Oh, I'm an invalid? And you toss this little time bomb straight into my lap?" Roy stabbed a finger at the thick black folder, which still lay on the bed.

"It's a big office! They'll assume someone's misplaced it, that's all."

"Oh, sure. Is that what you're going to tell the agent who arrests you?"

"Well, gee, you're not going to tell on us, are you?" May batted her eyelashes at him.

Roy grabbed his bandaged head with both hands and winced. "You kids..."

"Are we making life hard for you, Roy?" Rally patted his back and reached for the folder. "Don't worry—even if Smith figured out where it went, he'll write it off as fair compensation for my trouble. Maybe they photocopied it anyway."

May made a skeptical face. "There's a couple of hundred pages in there. Apparently they only had it for a few days, and Agent Wesson was hogging it. You know how he liked to keep secrets even from his boss. I bet it's the only one."

"Then we've got a real collector's item." Rally opened the folder, laid it flat on the table and flipped through it at random. "Boy, there's a lot of stuff. What I want to do first is confirm the things Brown told me."

"Oooh, like what?" May sat down with an eager air.

"Oh, some odds and ends about being abandoned and beaten up—he might have been talking through his hat. I think his point was to make me think Bean's a wild animal."

"And he's not?" growled Roy.

"Come on, Roy! Don't you even want to know the facts? This is a priceless opportunity."

"I do not want to go digging around in the filthy detritus of an immoral life." Roy took hold of the wheels of his chair and rolled it towards the door. "If it amuses you, go ahead, but I'm not taking part. See you in the coffee shop."

"I thought you were a detective. Twenty-eight years on the force! You must have seen everything there is to see."

"Sure I have. Too much. You mind opening the door for this old cripple?"

"If there's anything in there that ISN'T filthy," remarked May with a wink, "I think Roy doesn't want to know about it." She moved over to let Roy out.

"I'm getting that impression too. I don't see a table of contents—oh, look!" Rally held up a newspaper clipping in a page protector. "Here's something about when he was left in a parking lot! Brown told me about this!"

May let the door bang shut before Roy could exit, grabbed the clipping and held it up. "Oh my gosh! Listen to this!" She cleared her throat and began, "'Do You Know This Boy? Young Child Found Foraging At The Goreville Raceway! On Saturday, August 8, a small boy was found in the parking lot at the Goreville dirt track, south of Marion. Showing signs of starvation and severe beatings, he exhibited nearly feral behavior when approached by L. G. Coleman, an off-duty Chicago—'"

May choked on the words. Everyone froze.

Rally grabbed the clipping back from May, only to have Roy spin his chair around, rear up from his seat and grab it in turn. He sat back with a thump and stared at the yellowed strip of newsprint.

"'L. G. Coleman, an off-duty Chicago patrolman'," he echoed.

"Roy? Is that you?"

"Me?" His face went white, then flushed. "Nah. It couldn't be me. It's somebody else with the same last name. Twenty-six years ago, for crying out loud. It's a big department. It could be anybody."

"The same last name and the same initals? Your full name is Leroy George Coleman. You told me the George was for your grandfather."

"I don't remember anything like this." Roy tossed the clipping at Rally and turned his chair.

"You never found a little boy wandering in a racetrack parking lot? 1973—that would have been your second year on the force." Roy vehemently shook his head. Rally persisted. "But you always told me that for a cop, the first couple of years are what stick in your head."

"Sometimes I tell you too damn much."

"Will you just look at it again?" Rally held the clipping in front of him. "There's a photo of the kid in the article."

For a long few moments Roy breathed hard, as if the air lacked oxygen. His eyes looked through the paper rather than at it, focused on something invisible except to him. His gaze shuttled back and forth as if he were trying to avoid the vision.

"Please, Roy."

"Wh-when I saw him...I thought he was an Indian. Or a Gypsy." Roy covered his eyes with one hand. "Skinny little thing with big feet and black hair. Barefoot and ragged. B-bruises and cuts all over him..."

Rally knelt beside the wheelchair and put a hand on Roy's arm. "What did you do?"

"I had a box of fried chicken and biscuits. Had just picked it up for lunch at the track. He spotted it, and I could tell he was a lot hungrier than I was. Tried to offer him a drumstick...he wouldn't let me get near enough to give it to him. Hiding behind the cars and running away from me. A woman stopped and she gave it a try. The kid didn't go for it. I knew..."

Roy's shoulders heaved. He sniffed hard through his nose and made an obvious effort to control the tremor in his voice. "I knew someone had been beating the living crap out of him. Treating him like a dog. That's why he wouldn't get within arm's reach of anyone. Just a little kid..."

"This is...so totally weird..." May's hand crept up to cover her mouth and she said no more.

"I put the box down on the ground and backed off. Kept talking to him, just nonsense stuff, baby babble. Asked him his name, where his mom and dad were. He didn't say a word. He got a little nearer and he kept eying the food. He was hungry, but he was still afraid. Well, I don't know—not afraid, exactly. He stared me straight in the face. He had the damndest look in his eyes, like he didn't trust a living soul, like the whole world had done him wrong and he wasn't going to let it happen again. That look, on a child's face...it broke my heart."

"He was three years old." Rally propped her cheek on the arm of Roy's chair. "How did you get him to eat something?"

"I...I sang him nursery rhymes. I couldn't think of anything else to do. Songs my mother used to sing to me." Roy lowered his head and looked almost embarrassed. "He kept looking at me. Then he came over and started eating like he hadn't seen food in a year. Somebody called for a unit and by the time it got there, the kid was sitting on my lap, we were both covered in grease and that box was empty. I carried him to the squad car and he wouldn't let go of me for a while..."

Roy's voice failed for a moment, but he cleared his throat and went doggedly on, as if he had to speak aloud to propitiate a ghost that haunted his memory. Rally realized he had thought about this incident many times over the intervening years; he was looking at it now in an entirely different light. And yet not so different. A lost child was a lost child, no matter what...

"I had to coax him some more before he would get in the back seat. He was still picking the crumbs off his dirty clothes and sticking them in his mouth. When they drove him away in the squad car, he got up and looked out the window at me. I stood there watching until the car was gone...and that was the last I saw of him."

May's eyes were wide, her expression haunted. "What did you think would happen to the kid?"

Roy made a harsh, unhappy sound. "I hoped...that he'd go to a good home or something. Overcome his past and turn out to be a productive citizen."

"Well, uh, you could certainly say he followed his dream!" Rally tried to laugh.

Roy raised his head and grimaced. "I was still a little naïve back then. I thought...that I could make all the bad stuff go away, if I just tried hard enough. That was what a cop was supposed to do. Fix what was wrong...and let innocent children grow up in a world where no one would ever hurt them again."

"But you did your best, Roy. You're the best cop I know."

"When some things are broken, I don't think anyone can fix them." He gestured to May to let him out of the room. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee. See you later."

Rally and May sat quietly for some time after Roy left, slowly turning the pages of the folder. Rally checked off several facts that she recalled from Brown's conversation, but the typewritten lines of a long interview transcript blurred together into meaninglessness. Somehow all this information had lost its relevance. She moved her chair back from the table and folded her arms, lost in thought. May stole a glance at her, obviously uncomfortable with the silence. She nudged Rally and giggled at the sight of a new document.

"Here's his sixth-grade school counselor's notes! She thought he had potential, but needed a strong male role model...ha, ha!"

"Uh...I don't think we ought to be just, um, ransacking through this." Rally stacked the documents she had removed from the folder and put them back. May raised her brows. "I mean, it's kind of private."

"Private? This doesn't belong to Bean, you know." Comprehension began to dawn on May's face nevertheless and she tucked the counselor's report back into the folder. "Brown put it together, and it's all public records...well, except for the interviews and letters and notes and stuff...man, you have a point."

"Are you going to hate me if I say we should put it away after we confirm the things I've already been told? This isn't something that anyone would want other people smirking over. Especially not someone like Bean." She absently turned over a sheaf of documents in a clip and uncovered a photograph. "Ha...what's this?"

"I thought you were putting it away," said May. "Respecting Bean's privacy or something, which is such a weird idea, coming from you, that it kind of makes sense."

"No, look at this." Rally held the photograph in the light. It was a black and white eight-by-ten, slightly dog-eared. Obviously it had been taken in a cheap photographer's studio, but the faces were clear and crisply lit. A dark-haired woman, slender and pretty and thirtyish, dressed and made up in the style of the early 1970s, sat with a baby on her lap. He was obviously a boy, large-boned and husky, with a carefully trimmed cap of black hair.

The woman who held him wasn't looking at the camera. She had her eyes on her child, with a tender smile that for some reason made Rally's eyes film with tears. The baby's feet in little white shoes and perfectly rolled socks dangled from his mother's lap, one plump hand pulling at the front of her dress. The other hand was locked around a toy car.

His eyes were also not directed at the camera. The smile on the mother's face had provoked an answering smile from the baby boy, his mouth open and happy, showing a few teeth in front. She had rarely seen a picture that captured love, in its essence, so entirely. "Oh, my God."

She gave the photograph to May and fled to the bathroom to find a tissue. It was only then that she fully recalled that Brown had told her Bean's adoptive mother had died of cancer when her child was two and a half years old. If that was her, if that was HIM, if her happy, husky baby had lost that love so young...

A great, overwhelming emptiness grew in the pit of Rally's chest, and until May knocked on the door and called to tell her Roy was leaving the hotel with his wife, she stayed alone in the bathroom, sitting on the tub with her face buried in her hands.


	26. Chapter 26

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

I'm Leavin' You © Chester Burnett (Howlin' Wolf)  
Why Should I Hang Around; I Got the Blues © Big Maceo Merriweather

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty-Six**

"Good to see you back, Bean." Louis put a hand on Bean's shoulder as he passed by his booth. "Hope your luck is holding out."

"Hey, I'm alive." Bean stubbed out the remains of his cigarette, coughed and reached for his pitcher of beer, which held only dregs. "Thanks for the welcome."

"My privilege." Louis stepped behind the bar of the Blues Room and drew another pitcher. The musicians on the stage started up a slow rhythm. Bass and drums throbbing, guitar wailing, keyboard jamming, and a deep voice growling out a blues lyric. Half a dozen couples crowded on the tiny dance floor. Bean's head nodded slightly in time to the beat, his expression dark and guarded. His leather jacket lay folded on the seat beside him; he wore a collared shirt, his hair slicked back.

"_Well maybe in the mornin', I don't know  
Baby don't know, just how soon  
But I'm leavin' you…_

Woman I've got to put you down  
Well if you can't treat me right  
Ain't no use for me hangin' around…"

Someone slid into the booth with him: a woman about his age. Her legs were long, her skin smooth and copper-brown. "Hey, this seat's lookin' lonely."

"If you say so." Bean nodded at the cocktail waitress who brought him his refill and reached for his wallet to tip her. The woman ordered a drink.

"Haven't seen you here before, sugar. But Louis seems to know you, so that's an endorsement."

"Yeah, we got a little acquainted the other day." Bean drank deep.

"My, you're awfully thirsty." The woman smiled, softening the firm elegance of her features. "Oh, I won't pretend I don't know who you are. I heard about that one-sided fracas. Right outside the door of this club."

"Yeah?"

"Louis's account of your fighting prowess is expanding with the passage of time. I thought he might be exaggerating."

"Reckon he was."

"Oh, I don't know." Her eyes lingered on the breadth of Bean's shoulders. "I'm not gettin' that impression." He returned the appraisal, his glance passing over the low neckline of her dress.

The woman's drink came and Bean passed a bill to the waitress before she could open her purse. "Why, thank you. Bean, right?" The woman extended a hand, slim bracelets tinkling on her wrist. "I'm Lucille."

He examined her again before shaking hands, his sharp eyes narrowed. "Pleased to meet you, Lucille."

"What you looking so doubtful for, Bean? When a good-lookin' woman sits down with you in a club, you got to wonder why?" Her smile grew wider. "Well, a fightin' man has to watch his back, I suppose."

"You might suppose that." He withdrew his hand.

"You want to dance? You strike me as a man with coordination."

"Thanks, but I ain't much on dancin'."

"Then you mind if I finish my drink in your company?"

"Nope." He brought out his cigarettes with an inquiring gesture. Lucille gave him a smile of assent but held up a hand to refuse a smoke. Bean lit one and left the pack on the table. He took a drag and coughed again, deep and rasping in his throat.

"Gracious, Bean, that's a hella cold you got there."

"Naw, it ain't contagious." He took a swig of beer. "I got me a few lungfuls of smoke. Ten days ago, so it's not botherin' me much now." But he stubbed the cigarette out and didn't light another.

"Lungs full of smoke? I guess you did." She leaned closer. "You're the guy with the red car."

Bean stared at the stage with a distant look in his eyes.

"My cousin's a firefighter. He was there. He saw you drive up in that car, he saw you take that girl into the fire, and he was surprised as all get out when both of you came out again."

"Guess I was too. A little." Bean half-smiled.

"Didn't she end up in the hospital? I read that in the papers. She was on oxygen for a while, poor thing."

"She's OK. They let her out Monday afternoon." Bean fiddled with his cigarettes.

"That's good to hear. You took her some flowers while she was sick?" Lucille touched his arm. "Gave her a visit or two to cheer her up?"

"Too much fuzz around." Lucille shook her head in reproof, and he rolled his eyes. "She ain't the flower kind anyway. But she was gettin' lotsa swag. Bags 'n' boxes goin' in all day long."

"I'm not surprised. She's the celebrity of the month." She waited for a response and when none came she cocked her head. "You didn't get the same treatment, sugar. They didn't even mention your name. But then you did say somethin' about the fuzz."

He made a noncommittal quirk of his mouth. "I prefer it that way."

"I see, you like your privacy." Lucille leaned back and rolled her shoulders against the upholstery, raising her breasts. Bean's eyes wandered down her throat and torso. "You have that reputation…Roadbuster."

His gaze flicked up like a knife. "I gather my name's circulatin' in the Frisco rackets."

"All over the streets by now, honey. The king of the road, visitin' from Chi-town and cuttin' himself a swath."

"Yeah, I cut that swath right through some of those rackets." Bean's right hand went to his jacket and straight to an interior pocket; he slid his gaze from side to side, taking in the whole room at a glance. "Got some friends waitin' for you outside? Bring it on, babe."

Lucille shrugged with one shoulder and pursed her full lips. "Some of us local citizens be willin' to give you a welcome, Bean, 'least for the right price. Some others who know of you—well, the less said the better." She glanced up under her lashes. "You judge for yourself whose side I'm on."

Bean suddenly grinned, and then settled back and took a drink. "What's your line, Lucille?"

"I'm a good listener."

"A nose, huh? Your game is info?"

"I talk to a lot of people. No harm in talk, is there?"

"Depends." He considered for a moment. "Seems I just handed you some dope. What you offering in exchange?"

"Who do you want it on?" She swirled the ice in her glass. "That lady we were discussing?"

"Good as anything."

"Well, she's always written up in the same paragraph with one of those guys she rescued. That Larry Sam is a dish, honey, if his pictures don't lie."

Bean's expression fogged over. He put an unlit cigarette between his lips.

Lucille tapped her chin with an index finger and peered at him. "You know about the Sam banquet?"

He frowned. "Banquet?"

"The Sams and their friends are holding a big event to celebrate. Sunday—three nights away. She's the guest of honor along with her little partner. The word's being passed that you'd be welcome too."

"No shit."

"Uh-huh. It's a flag of truce. Some guy called Agent Smith is guaranteeing no arrests that night."

"Smith, huh?" Bean shifted the cigarette to the other side of his mouth. "Sounds like a real party."

"Oh, it's gonna be a humdinger—about two hundred people and all the food and booze they can hold. Everybody who's anybody in Chinatown is going to be there. Even the mayor's planning to put in an appearance. Speaking of celebrations, rumor has it the Sams are going to take the occasion to announce their son is engaged."

The cigarette fell. Bean picked it up and tried to put it in his mouth again. He paused and coughed in a harsh, croaking rattle.

Lucille watched him, slowly shaking her head. "That enough dope for you, Bean?"

"Yeah." The cigarette disintegrated in his fingers.

"So you going to take them up on the invitation?"

He glanced up at her. For a fleeting moment, the ice cracked. He clenched his jaw and froze his features into a hard mask, but Lucille's eyes went wide and warm.

"Honey, I've been wondering about that deal with you and her ever since I heard about it." She played with a few drops of water on the table, moving them around, merging and separating. "Maybe it makes sense that a woman would want to save her man from burning up in a fire, even if it was a mutha-crazy thing to do."

"Maybe." Bean rubbed his temples with one hand, hiding his face.

"But why would a guy like you ride straight into the valley of death with her?"

"Sounds like you think you know the answer to that, Lucille." He showed his teeth. She flinched.

"Hey, be cool. If I'm asking that question, so are a lot of other people."

"Like it's everybody's damn business? Well, crap—I guess I can't stop 'em from talkin'. Unless I get my hands on whoever's spreading shit about me." He cracked his knuckles in a rolling volley.

"There's plenty of word going around, Bean, though I wouldn't call it shit. You probably want to know the sound of it, considerin' it's got to do with your rep. I'm just the messenger, dig?"

His scowl eased somewhat, though his brows still creased over his scar. "The Roadbuster ain't gone soft, if that's what they're saying." His voice rose. "That day ain't never going to come."

"Soft? When you almost got burned up just to finish a job? Lost your car and still got yourself shy of the cops?" Lucille gave a melodious laugh. "Now why on earth would anybody be sayin' you'd gone soft?"

Bean said nothing, his jaw working. He finished his beer, wiped his lips with an aggressive swipe and shoved the empty pitcher away.

"I don't know that I'd believe all the yap I heard. Unless I heard it straight from the source. But what I hear sounds kind of…" She watched Bean's face as if what she sought could be read in a blank page. "Well, I only know how it looks to me. Just plain heartwarmin'. If that's a word anyone should apply to you."

Bean signaled to Louis, who had already drawn him a fresh pitcher. The waitress put it down in front of him and took away the empty one. He gulped two-thirds of it in twenty seconds.

Lucille's expression was soft and earnest. "This isn't really business, Bean. I won't be repeatin' anything about you. I just can't quit thinking about it ever since I heard the story, that's all."

Turning in his seat, Bean watched the musicians and ignored her.

"_She said she didn't want me, why should I hang around?  
Hey, why should I hang around?  
And that if I hang around, I would be jail house bound…_

"_I love that woman, more than she will ever know  
Yes, I love her  
Hey baby, more than you will ever know  
But if you drive me away, I won't be back no more…"_

Lucille rapped the table and stood up. "Sorry, I just like to talk. You have a nice evening, Bean. I'm going to say only one more thing to you, because I never could keep my big mouth shut."

Without moving his head, he bent his unsmiling gaze on her.

"Remember, she's a woman. Black, white or brown, we got certain things in common. Other than sentimental ideas, that is."

"Yeah. So?"

"So I remember being that young. She's not liable to come straight out with it, and no one can read that book when the leadin' lady don't know how the story goes." Lucille leaned a little closer and put a crisp emphasis on her words. "But if you don't even be stickin' around to ask her, you never gonna know how it ends."

Bean's eyes slid to the stage and back again. "Ask her what?"

"Never mind, honey. Good night now. I'll go drink with Louis."

"Naw. Hold on a second, Lucille." He briefly closed his eyes, exhaled, and rose from his seat. "I guess I remember how to dance."

"All right, let's dance." She held up her arms to him.

"_Just tell me baby, just tell me baby  
What can I do to change your mind?  
Hey hey, baby can I change your mind?  
I got the freight train blues, the tracks is out-a line…_

_You got a man in the east, an' a man in the west  
Just sittin' here wonderin' who you love the best  
Hey hey, what can I do to change your mind?  
I got the blues for you baby, you keep me worried all the time…"_

In the narrow corridor that led to the toilets, Lucille pulled Bean's shirt collar aside and put a fingertip on the side of his throat, just under the parallel red scars. Mouthing a cold cigarette, he looked down at her.

"You did that for her too, didn't you?" Lucille moved her hand to rest on his chest.

"I got a debt in regard to that lady."

"I suppose you do. But you got to tell her, y'hear? It all be for nothin' if you don't say nothin'."

"What the hell am I gonna say?" He rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"That you're made like a real man. Your inside workings ain't welded steel and bulletproof glass. That's nothing to be ashamed of, being a real man."

He took the cigarette from his lips, leaned down and kissed her hard. Lucille let out a gasp, but it wasn't in surprise. She looked at Bean with melting eyes.

"Now what was that for, sugar?"

"You're a pretty lady, Lucille." He hooked an arm around her waist and bent to her lips again. Lucille's eyes closed; she clung to his shirt front and pressed against his body. Her mouth parted for him. Bean pulled back from the kiss and examined her with a cool glance.

Her eyes opened and she smiled with a tinge of regret. "I know what you're after, Bean. I don't need you to pretend anything for my benefit."

He straightened up and folded his arms. "Guess not."

"So let's talk business first, to avoid any misunderstanding on either part."

"Fine by me."

She pursed her lips. "I imagine you don't want to stay in the same place two nights running. Or leave a paper trail at hotels. So you figure I might be able to provide you with a safe flop...if I like you enough not to sell you to the highest bidder."

"Yeah, well…lately I've been sleepin' in my car. It's kinda distinctive, so I got to move it every couple hours. If the Frisco blue ever gets a good whiff of me, I might have to cause some damage." He chewed the inside of his cheek and looked up and down the corridor. "You got a garage at your place, Lucille? Parking off the street?"

"Why yes, I do. Easy enough to make room for your ride, big man."

"What's the rate? You want cash?" He reached into his jacket.

"Well, the parking fee's negotiable. I'm not in the habit of takin' money for a warm bed. Not yet, anyway." Lucille glanced down and up again into his face. "I didn't sit down with you just because I wanted to pass the dope, honey. I'm old enough to say it straight out." She guided Bean's lips down to hers.

"Guess you are."

"One night at my place, and then you'll be moving on." Her eyes filled with greater regret. "No charge, Bean. Just follow me home, park that car and come on inside. I'll even cook you breakfast."

He smiled down at her, though his eyes remained distant. "Oh, I always settle my tab, Lucille."

* * *

"I'm reaaady, Froggy!" May let herself into Rally's room, jumped on the bed and giggled. Her bright, flouncy maternity dress flew up and down, flashing her panties. She landed on her back and grinned. "You must be feeling a little distracted these days, Rally."

"Why do you say that?" Rally leaned towards the mirror and opened her mouth wide to put on her second coat of mascara.

"You haven't even asked about your CAR!"

"Huh? I thought you said they were keeping it in the Federal Building garage for me. I didn't really feel up to driving anyway." She smacked her lips, blotted them with a tissue and applied lip gloss. "But I'll take the limo to the banquet—it's no big deal. I'll get plenty of time behind the wheel when we leave tomorrow."

"Oh, no. No limo for you." May bounced up and took Rally's elbow. "Get your shoes on and come down!"

"I'm not ready! I still have to—"

"You're gorgeous! Let's go, they're waiting."

"Who's waiting? Not Roy—he's riding in that chauffeured wheelchair van with his wife." Rally picked up her garter holster and her little Du0, hiked the stiff brocade skirt of her new cheongsam up around her waist and strapped the gun on her left thigh between the top of her stocking and the bottom of her garter belt. "Oh, I meant to ask you. Did it come yet? It was supposed to arrive today!"

"It's in my purse, so don't worry—we'll surprise him at the banquet. Come and see!" May tugged her towards the door. Rally hauled her cheongsam down, grabbed her red satin evening bag and slipped on a pair of matching high-heeled pumps. She couldn't walk very fast in them, but she followed May to the elevator.

"What's the big mystery, anyway?"

"Nothing mysterious about it! Our ride is here and he called up to the room." The elevator doors opened to the hotel lobby. Rally stepped out and looked around. Pete Smith came forward, Sue Wojohowicz just behind him,.

"I'd be honored to escort you lovely ladies to the party." He grinned at them and spread his arms. "And I'm dressed for the part tonight." She had never seen Smith in anything other than baggy sport coats; tonight he had on a good dark suit and red tie.

"You certainly are, Agent Smith. We'd be honored to accept." May bounced over and slipped her hand under his elbow.

Wojohowicz wore a short, spaghetti-strap cocktail dress—the first time Rally had noticed her legs, which were long and curvaceous in a muscular way—and a romantically curled hairdo. In heels she was well over six feet, and she had put on enough makeup for a fashion model. For a moment Rally didn't even recognize her.

"You look great, Agent! Totally glam."

"Sue, please. Tonight at least, I'm just Sue. You are going to knock them dead in that dress, Rally. That fits you like a glove."

She linked arms with Rally as they crossed the lobby and went out through the revolving glass doors. Heads turned at the sight of them: a tall, athletic blonde and a slim, shapely brunette arm in arm, each dressed to the nines and sparkling with jewelry. Rally put some runway strut into her walk in spite of herself.

Wojohowicz smiled at her. "I hear you're not wild about this whole thing. I don't want to hog your limelight, because heaven knows you deserve it, but if you want me to try to draw off a little of the attention…"

"Perfect. You definitely picked the right outfit for it! Thanks, Sue."

They all descended the steps to the street. Smith signaled to the doorman, who spoke into a walkie-talkie. From somewhere nearby resounded a deep engine note, something as familiar to Rally as her own voice. Her GT-500 Mustang Cobra, shining blue and white, rounded the corner of the hotel and stopped directly in front of them. The uniformed parking valet at the wheel jumped out and gave the keys to Smith, who tipped him.

"Thank you, sir. But just getting to drive that car one block already made my night!"

In the early-evening light, the Cobra had a different air from the last time she had seen it. Not just a good wash and wax? Rally took a closer look and let out a whoop.

"Pete! You FIXED MY CAR!" She ran to it as fast as she could in those heels and embraced the roof and windshield. The scrapes and scars were gone; even the missing chrome and cracked window had been replaced. Everything sparkled, smooth and sharp and shiny. May jumped up and down, giggling and clapping at Rally's delight.

"Courtesy of Uncle Sam." Smith beamed at her. "Full engine tune-up, lots of bodywork and a custom glass job. What else was I going to do with that jalopy while you were in the hospital?"

"That's SO sweet of you!" Rally threw her arms around Smith's neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He turned red. "And you tooled it around town just a little in the process of getting it repaired, right?"

"Well…" The red burned a little deeper. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Of course not, Pete. You're welcome!" She gave his hand a hearty shake and took the keys. "But tonight, _I'm_ driving!"

* * *

At a large hall with a big parking lot in front, Rally slowed and pulled over. An attendant in a red uniform gestured her into a space by the street. Cars were still arriving, both private sedans and rented limousines, but a large crowd in evening dress stood outside the tall double doors of the hall, talking and milling around.

"Are we late or early?" Rally got out and retrieved her purse. "Why hasn't anyone gone in yet?"

"Wait and see." Smith handed Wojohowicz out of the back seat.

Someone blew a whistle when their party approached the hall, and a gong clanged several times. The people moved and parted, creating a large open space right in front of the building. "Kids to the front! Move back a little more!" several attendants shouted, running around and directing the crowd.

Rally looked around in curiosity. An attendant escorted them to the front ranks, opposite the doors. Roy and his wife were already there, accompanied by several of the injured in their wheelchairs or on crutches. A phalanx of dress-uniformed police and firefighters stood around them. Children scrambled for the best seats on the pavement with an air of anticipation.

Rally said hello to Mrs. Coleman and greeted Roy with a hug. Most of his burn dressings were gone, his beard was growing back and irregular patches of shiny pink skin clustered on his face and hands.

"Hey, tiger!" May gave him a well-aimed kiss on the cheek. "How handsome could he be, huh, Rally?"

"You girls look like a million." Roy smiled at them and aimed a thumb at the open area. "Seems that something's about to happen now that you've arrived."

"Certainly looks that way." Rally saw the Sams file out of a side entrance to the hall and join the crowd. Larry beamed at her and Vanessa waved. People shuffled off to the sides to keep from blocking the front doors and revealed a group of seated musicians with two big drums, a gong and cymbals.

Smith laughed. "Oh, we're in for a treat. The fire department granted a waiver at special request."

"Really? What is it?" May jumped up and down. "I want to see!"

The gong sounded again. Two men in oversize smiling masks and flapping red robes ran out from the building and into the middle of the open space; they lit strings of tiny red firecrackers and tossed them in the air. The children cheered.

Heavy drumbeats pounded through the rapid detonations and the cymbals clashed. Joined by the brassy clanging of the gong, the music grew strident and rapid. The masked men ran back and pulled the tall double doors wide.

From the opening issued two strange creatures, one after the other. They had huge, colorful heads with flapping mouths and blinking, long-lashed eyes; their bodies were bright fringed cloths that undulated up and down to the beat. Their legs, one pair under the head and the other under the body, were human and dressed in fringed kung-fu pants and slippers. The rhythm of the instruments was loud, martial and thrilling, constantly changing tempo and emphasis.

"A lion dance!" shrieked May. "Oh, wonderful!"

Each lion pranced and shook, its head jerking up and down and its eyes blinking. The pairs of dancers moved in practiced unison as one being, the lions circling around each other. They worked in figure eights and darting lunges, moving towards the street, and then ran around the perimeter of the open area and started again. Though stylized and highly decorated, they had a sinuous, feline quality.

The masked men brandished fans, striking martial-arts poses and enticing the lions to chase them. Rally watched in delighted fascination, laughing at the goggling eyes and exuberant movements of the puppet heads. Even the furry, sequined ears flapped back and forth. The children gasped and giggled when the lions sidled up to sniff at them and 'ate' offered pieces of paper from their hands. More firecrackers went off in deafening sequence.

"That's what they needed the waiver for," said Smith, covering his ears. "The noise chases those pesky bad-luck demons away."

"Aw, even firecrackers are illegal here? Give me a break!"

Both lions approached closer with many elaborate figures of the dance. When they stood in front of Rally and May, they made low bows, shaking their huge heads back and forth. The drums and gong and cymbals rose to a crescendo of noise. The masked men brought out two enormous decorated papier-mâché balls, and each lion got up on one and balanced there. They rolled the balls around by walking on them, the dancers exhibiting impressive athletic grace and coordination.

When the lions dismounted, the men removed the balls and laid down heads of lettuce tied with string. The lions investigated the lettuce with catlike caution, made short runs at it and scampered away, mouthed it with their heads low to the ground, tossed it in the air, tore it to bits and scattered it all over the parking lot. Then the masked men ran around with buckets, throwing handfuls of small red paper envelopes that fluttered everywhere. The children ran to gather them up with happy yells and everyone applauded and commented.

"Well done! Good dance! Plenty of luck!"

This was apparently the finale. The lions made another circuit of the open space to take their bows and ran back into the building. Breaking up, the crowd milled around again while the musicians trundled their instruments away. Rally had expected the guests to go straight into the hall, but again everyone talked and jostled in no apparent order.

Larry waded through the throng with his entire family in tow. The Sams escorted Rally, May, Roy and the FBI agents to the front and up to the doors. They paused there. In the press of the crowd, no one moved to enter, but all of them seemed to be watching Rally. She took Larry's elbow and whispered into his ear.

"All right, is there something I'm missing? Why isn't anyone going inside?"

Larry leaned in. "The guests of honor have that privilege. After you."

"Oh, come on. This is your family's party!" She gestured at the doors. "I'm going to feel stupid going in first."

His smile widened, and his parents looked at each other and nodded approvingly.

"Please, you and May step inside."

She could tell this was a politeness game, and so decided to play along. "Nope. You and your parents first."

"Out of the question. We could not dishonor our guests."

Roy chuckled, obviously enjoying the banter. Wojohowicz scanned the crowd from her high vantage point, not paying much attention.

"After you." Rally tried to shove Larry inside.

"No, after you." He pushed back, but it ended up as half an embrace, his arms circling her waist. People laughed and applauded, especially the Sams.

Rally's face flamed and she stepped away. "Lar-ry!"

"All right, etiquette is satisfied now." Larry's eyes sparkled. "So go ahead."

"No way."

"Oh, for crying out loud—I'm hungry!" May stamped her foot.

"Then we're going in together!" Rally linked arms with Larry on one side and May on the other, and they walked across the threshold. Everyone poured in after them, sorting out their own order of precedence.

* * *

Apparently Chinese banquets did not include cocktails beforehand or any pause before the dinner service. Rally had no sooner been escorted to her seat, the honor place at the head table with May beside her, than Mr. Sam rose to speak. He looked lost for a moment, and Vanessa rummaged through her backpack and handed him a creased index card.

Seated directly opposite Rally at the point nearest the kitchen doors, he held up a glass of liquor. Each big round table had two bottles of Chivas Regal and ice buckets standing on the central turntable, but no wine or other drinks except pots of tea, though 7-Up was distributed to the tables with children.

"I apologize to you, honored guests," he said, consulting the index card, "for this poor and meager dinner. There are very few dishes tonight, all of them badly cooked, and not much to drink. These are all the pitiful scraps our humble family could gather to honor these brave Gunsmith Cats ladies, who have saved the life of my son more than once with their guns and bombs." He changed to Cantonese, probably repeating his words, which were obviously only ritual modesty. Various and enticing odors wafted from the kitchens. Larry smiled at her from his seat beside his father, sharing the joke.

"Please drink to these brave ladies, honored guests." The room stood with a scraping of chairs. "We owe them more than we can repay, because we owe them the life of my son, which is better than a mountain of gold. We do not know what we can give them in return. Except to give them a place in our family forever!"

He lifted his glass and drank, as did everyone other than May and Rally. Rally blushed, feeling as if every pair of eyes was on her, which of course they were. Most unsettling to her was the adoring look on Larry's face as he toasted them and lowered his glass. To give them a place in the family? It wasn't easy to miss the implications of that. May looked excited and basked in the attention, but Rally had trouble raising her gaze from the tablecloth. She breathed a sigh of relief when everyone sat down.

Waiters ran out with steaming towels in baskets. When the diners had cleansed their hands, the first course followed. A large round platter of beautifully arranged and garnished cold sliced meats and other less identifiable items was set right in front of Rally. Her mouth watered, but she glanced around to gauge whether she was expected to start on the appetizers right away. Larry signaled with a tiny motion of one hand. She wished she had read up a little more on the customs, but apparently she was doing all right. The Sams smiled and nodded at each other again and a rustle of approving whispers went through the room. Rally counted fifteen slowly until Larry winked at her; she eagerly picked up her chopsticks.

Mr. Sam served the soup course from a porcelain tureen, handing the filled bowls around the table. More toasts followed from every table: to the FBI agents, police and firefighters present, to the hosts, to the not-yet-arrived mayor, to the lion dance troupe, to the food itself. Every rich and luxurious course was as pretty as it was tasty, and the Sams kept urging her and the other guests to take more of every dish, picking out the best pieces for them in spite of repeated refusals. For some reason there wasn't any rice, but Rally didn't miss it.

The crowded room didn't buzz with conversation, exactly; the guests applied themselves to eating with such dedication that the clinking of glasses and serving spoons and loud slurping was the major source of noise. Everyone complimented the food in extravagant terms, so Rally followed suit, which wasn't difficult. The liquor vanished rapidly and was replenished. Rally drank a glass of whiskey and water, finding it went surprisingly well with the food. May drank 7-Up with the children. Little bean-filled pastries and sticky-sweet dumplings of mysterious composition were passed around after every course, along with toothpicks.

Glancing around between helpings, Rally noted the large number of brightly dressed small children and babies in attendance. Their parents held them on their laps and fed them, or let them nap in strollers parked along the side of the room. Near her, the adults at another table cooed over a baby and handed it around. Rally felt a touch on her shoulder, and suddenly she was holding the squalling, red-faced kid on her lap, her back stiff with surprise and panic. Roy toasted her with a grin and Smith snorted.

The Sam elders and their friends chattered in Cantonese. Larry appeared behind her chair and took the drooling little monster from her, to Rally's intense relief. He crouched and spoke next to her ear.

"Sorry. We tend to assume everyone adores the ankle-biters. I'll deliver him back to his parents."

"Aw, let me hold him." May held out her arms. Larry passed the baby to her with a smile. "Are you a widdle boy, huh? Cutesie-wootsie widdle booboo boy!" The brat quit crying, smiled with toothless gums and waved his tiny hands in the air. "I'm gonna have a widdle booboo boy like you, yes I am. He might look a lot like you, you cutesie-wootsie!" She nuzzled his fat cheeks, burbled a few more ridiculous endearments, passed him to the willing Mrs. Coleman and turned to Rally with a dreamy smile. "Aw, I can't wait to have my very own baby to cuddle. Three and a half months to go!"

"May, if you talk like that to Junior, I'm going to have to bring my earplugs!"

Wojohowicz laughed in commiseration. She switched seats with Smith to sit next to Rally and poured her some more Chivas. "I think you're a career woman at heart, Rally."

"You can say that again." Rally sipped the liquor and took a deep breath. "I am not ready to settle down in any way, shape or—" Larry was looking at her, so she broke off and turned a little away from the table. "I think us girls are of one mind on that, right?"

"Right." Wojohowicz smiled and nodded, picking up her own drink. "Though I'd have to say I'm as settled as I want to be." She raised a toast and drank. "Married to the Bureau, honey. I couldn't imagine it anywhere else."

"Th' Bureau," repeated Smith, also raising his glass. He was definitely a few sheets to the wind; all these toasts required a strong constitution or a very light hand with the whiskey.

"Then I'm glad for you."

Wojohowicz put a hand on her arm with a slightly boozy air of big-sister advice. "Have you ever thought about becoming an FBI agent, Rally? All you'd need to do to qualify is get a college degree, and by the time you did that, you'd be old enough."

"Ah…no, I hadn't thought about it."

"You've got time. Lots of people don't join until they've had some experience elsewhere. Pete was in the Army, and then a cop in Atlanta for several years while he went to school. We've got law degrees, MDs, MBAs. It's a good crew."

"Well, I see you really enjoy what you do." Rally suppressed a grimace and casually glanced around. However much she might like individual agents, a career with the Justice Department really didn't seem like her cup of tea.

"So…" Wojohowicz glanced around just as Rally had and patted her hair in an almost nervous way. "Have you heard if Bandit's planning to come, maybe later in the evening? You told him the Bureau would guarantee safe conduct?"

"Bean?" Rally rolled her eyes, folded her hands on the back of her chair and propped her chin on them. After almost two weeks with no communication at all, she had started to wonder if she had to write Bean off for good. She still ached to see him; she felt restless and troubled not knowing his exact whereabouts or why he had stayed so strictly away from her. Something seemed to be eating a hole in her, every day enlarging the void where he wasn't. But anxiety and irritation overlay other feelings at present and now her first words to him would probably sound peevish, at the least. She pushed away the thought of the longed-for tête-à-tête she had been rehearsing for days, originally in hope and later in frustration. "Well…it wasn't exactly possible to invite him. At least not officially. Larry tried."

"He tried?"

"He spread the word every way he could other than taking out ads in the newspaper. Including the flag of truce. So Bean did get an invitation, as far as that goes." Her eyes wandered to the main door as if he were about to stroll through it, his hair slicked back and his hands in his pockets. "The Sams would love to have him to fuss over, because after all he took just as much part in the big rescue as I did, if not more. I think he trusts Pete's word, so the SFPD shouldn't be a problem for him." She glanced over her shoulder at Roy, who was looking a little drawn and not eating much of this course. "But there are other considerations, I suppose. I honestly don't think he's going to show up."

She looked back at Wojohowicz and was mildly startled to see a very feminine expression of piqued disappointment cross the agent's face. "Uh…were you counting on him or something?"

"Me? I work for Uncle Sam. He's the only guy I can count on." With a sigh, Wojohowicz downed her drink and Smith poured her a big splash.

Rally wasn't sure if jealousy was the correct emotion at the moment, but realized that Wojohowicz had been working on a crush for a while now. Actually, she felt more sympathy than rivalry—she knew exactly what conflicts Bean's attractions could arouse in a woman. Smiling, she shook her head. "You like the dangerous ones, Sue?"

"On my recreational time, at least." Wojohowicz winked and drained half her glass at a throw. "Well, the hell with it. I'm here to enjoy the party and back you up. It'll be a pleasure no matter who I have to dance with."

"Dance? Oh…yeah." Rally turned to look at the stage, which had been set up for a six-piece band. "Dancing after all this food? Ouch. I wish I hadn't picked such a tight dress!"

After at least two hours of solid eating the last course was finally carried out, a huge whole fish decorated with vegetables cut into fancy shapes. The waiters deposited the platter with the head pointed towards Rally and stood back. At her look of trepidation, Larry made a little circling motion of his forefinger. With a sigh of relief, she turned the fish to face his father and bowed. Mr. Sam gravely nodded in return and demonstrated how to serve oneself a portion from the thing. The table imitated him. Rally took only a taste of the fish, intending to play with it rather than eat another bite, but in the next moment a white-filmed eyeball the size of a shooter marble landed on her plate. Another choice morsel for the guest of honor!

"Huh?" She wasn't used to her food looking back at her, and gave an involuntary shudder. Concealing a smile, Larry raised his brows and stroked his chin. He wasn't going to be any help this time, the bum. She glanced at May, who shrugged. Roy perked up a little and nudged his wife. Smith and Wojohowicz turned to see what was going on.

It was plain what she had to do, and she had to do it alone. Rally gritted her teeth and mustered up her courage. Half the room now seemed to be watching her with bated breath. This might be the most difficult thing she had attempted since she had reached San Francisco, and she wondered if her strength and ingenuity would be equal to the task. She readied her weapons and took a deep breath. All she could do was try.

With her own eyes squinted half shut, she picked up the fish eye in her chopsticks, dropped it as far back on her tongue as she could and gulped it without chewing.

If she hadn't been drinking strong stuff all evening, it probably wouldn't have made it all the way down. She thanked God that it did, gagged a little at the sound of the congratulatory applause and immediately poured three cups of steaming tea on top of everything she had eaten.

A token bowl of rice was served, which no one touched. The hot towels came out again and the waiters put bowls of fruit on the tables. Well, she'd lived through the meal. However, that probably wasn't going to be the roughest part of this evening, not by a long shot.

* * *

When the tables were cleared and wiped clean, the waiters moved some of them away from the stage to free up the dance floor. Someone got up on the stage, took a microphone and said a few words in Cantonese. The band, which had eaten at a table with the lion dancers, began to tune up their instruments. The Sams bustled back and forth, checking on the band and whispering in the ears of a few dignitaries.

Rally came back from freshening up in the women's restroom and looked around. That must be the mayor just arriving with his entourage. He sported a mustache, a colored pocket square and an easy smile. After doffing his sharp fedora, he took the microphone for a few minutes and spoke in unctuous politician's tones to applause and flashing of cameras. He was saying something about the dead and injured city employees and private generosity, but Rally was not listening with even half an ear.

Bean, damn him. Where was he, anyway? Had he picked up the invitation, and if he had, what had he decided? What was he doing, what was he thinking? Her left leg jittered up and down with a cramp and she kicked off her heels to relieve her aching toes. Could she even imagine at this point that his thoughts had anything to do with her?

More liquor appeared on the tables along with fresh glasses and plates of sweets and Rally found her chair again. She gratefully accepted a drink from Mr. Sam and nursed it as the crowd swirled around her. Various people clasped her free hand and murmured things she barely heard. Wojohowicz struck a hip-cocked pose a few yards away, and to Rally's mild amusement, a number of the men gathered around her and eagerly offered to refill her glass. The agent winked at her and tossed her blonde curls. May gobbled pastries and licked her fingers.

The waiters brought out a large red and gold box, put it on a table against the wall and hung above it a banner printed in Chinese characters. The mayor came over to the head table; Rally and May stood up to shake hands and hear congratulations. He led his entourage to the red box and said some more words while gesturing to it. After taking an envelope from one of his aides, he posed with it held just above the box, dropped it in with a flourish, shook hands all round and departed with more flashing of cameras. The crowd jostled under the banner.

She looked up to discover that many people were crowded around the head table as well. The photographers edged to the front and aimed at her and May. The youngest Sam girls, Jade and Cassandra, hauled two big handled bags to the table and sidled shyly away.

"More…fucking…presents…" moaned Rally in a very low voice and slumped in her chair, feeling way past tipsy. May patted her back and Roy rolled up with an encouraging smile. She had never been so grateful to have good friends with her, but had a powerful impulse to jump out of her chair, run screaming through the kitchens and out the freight entrance to freedom. She sat up straight and awaited her fate with a pasted-on smile.

"We're very sorry to inflict these worthless trinkets on our honored guests." Larry had a big smile and Vanessa rolled her eyes. "My family hopes you will forgive us for the very small quantity of gifts we have given you, and for their poor condition. Here are some ill-chosen odds and ends that are all we could afford to get for you."

"No problem," muttered Rally.

Larry reached into the first bag and handed a big gift box to May. Her face lit up; she tore off the red and gold ribbons and lifted the lid. "Oooh! Baby clothes! How totally cute!" She held up a little red jacket and hat and scrabbled through the tissue paper again. "Wow! How many outfits did Junior get?"

Mrs. Sam beamed, and her middle daughter Emerald spoke for her. "Eight, plus coats, shoes and toys. There are some gift certificates in there too. Mom's really happy for you since it's a boy."

"Oh, thank you! It's perfect!" May jumped up and distributed hugs.

Larry brought out a gift from the second bag and looked at Rally. "This unattractive, useless piece of junk will only clutter up your house, but we beg you to accept it anyway."

She prayed for strength and took it from him. In the wrappings, the box felt heavy and much firmer than cardboard. She tore the paper away. Dark, highly polished wood, and on the lid was set a bright brass plate inscribed with her name, the date and dedications from several Chinatown merchant associations. This looked like the most expensive present so far.

"Go on, open it." Larry looked at her with a shining expression and flashes went off all around them. "I'll hold the box—just lift the lid." He put a hand underneath it and raised it for the cameras.

Rally opened the box. Inside, with its two fifteen-round magazines nestled alongside in leather-lined compartments, was a vintage customized CZ75. Its gleaming metal shone like a flawless mirror, its levers were handmade and it had been fitted with dark full-checkered walnut grips. She lifted out the gun, entranced, and rested it on her palms. A storm of applause thundered through the room.

Rally checked the chamber, put in an empty magazine and popped it out again. All the edges were skillfully smoothed and rounded. She twirled the gun, forward and back, snapped it into her grip and sighted on the wall above the stage. The spectators let out a collective "Ahh."

Custom tritium night sights winked little green eyes at her, and the front strap was scale-textured under her fingers for a no-slip grip. On the left side of the frame "Rally Vincent" was engraved in script letters, gilded to stand out against the polished steel.

"It's gorgeous," she said in awe. "What a beautiful gunsmithing job—and I know what I'm talking about." A hearty ripple of laughter. Holding the CZ75 across her chest, she posed for the cameras with a smile. "Thank you so much. This is JUST what I wanted! But I can't bear to think of getting a single scratch on it. How can I take this little beauty out on the street?" She laid it back in its compartment with a sigh of real happiness.

"Probably in this," said Larry, and beckoned to Vanessa. She pulled a leather case from the second bag and put it in Rally's hands.

"You know that I'm a passionate advocate for removing concealable firearms from private hands, and that thing doesn't even have a child lock, but I guess you're qualified to shoot it at the right people. So here you go."

Rally opened the case to find a sleek tooled-leather shoulder holster. She thanked the Sams again, tried it on, holstered the new CZ and posed again, then returned everything to the presentation boxes. Vanessa and Emerald took the gifts and lined them up on the table for everyone to admire at close range. May tugged on Rally's dress.

"Hey. Roy is getting ready to leave—his wife is out in the parking lot waiting for the van service. We have to give him HIS present!" They ran over and captured him near the door. "Roy! Wait!"

"Hey, kids." He looked very tired and was probably in dire need of a painkiller. "You girls stay at the party and have a good time—don't worry about old Roy. He's not up for dancing tonight anyway."

"We won't stop you. We just wanted to be sure you got this before you left." Rally rubbed her hands in anticipation while May dug in her purse and came up with a windowed business envelope. Roy took it when she held it out and looked surprised.

"Open it. I bet you'll feel a lot better when you see what it is." May giggled. "We got hold of a police benevolent fund in Chicago, and they really came through for you when they heard what happened!"

Roy cocked a brow at them and opened the envelope. For a moment he seemed speechless with the check in his hand, looking at May and Rally with dazed, blinking eyes.

"Five thousand dollars!" squealed May. "A grant of five thousand dollars, made out to Detective Leroy G. Coleman!" She hugged Roy, who absently patted her head.

"Well, that's a nice check." Roy looked it over again, squinting at the numbers. "A very nice check. I'll have to thank them for their generosity…and I'm grateful to you girls for thinking of me."

"Enough for your plane fares, all this van service you've been needing to get to the hospital, and a ton left over! What are you going to do with it, Roy?"

He didn't answer for a moment, still looking at the check. Then he glanced up and searched the room with his eyes. "Ah, there it is."

"What?"

Roy took hold of his wheels and creaked forward. "Anyone want to lend a hand if I get hung up on a table? This place is a little crowded for maneuvering."

Rally jogged after him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going over to the other side of the room, Rally."

Roy rolled up to the red and gold box under the banner. It had a large slot in the top and little red Chinese gift envelopes sat in stacks around it. He picked one of them up and opened the end. Taking a pen from his jacket, he laid the check out on the table and endorsed it. After folding it twice to make it fit, he inserted it in the envelope.

"Roy?" May's eyes went wide.

He turned to them, an odd smile on his face. "If one of you would be so kind…I can't reach the slot from here."

Rally's lips quivered. "You don't want the money?"

"Of course I want the money. There's other people who need it more than I do. This dinner is doubling as the fundraising kickoff for all the people who got hurt on that awful night, and their survivors. That's the reason I decided to show up even though my wife wanted me to rest before we fly out tomorrow. Thank you for getting me such a nice check—it's great to be able to make a decent donation to the cause. You girls can take the real credit for this one." He gestured at the donation box. "Put it in, please."

"But...but you haven't even shown it to your wife!"

"I know." Roy winked at her. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention that to her."

"Uh…OK. Whatever you say." Rally took the envelope, looked at it for a moment, and put it into the slot. Roy's wife came to collect him, and the Colemans said goodbye to the Sams and left.

The band started up, playing covers of current pop songs alternating with slower numbers probably calculated to please the older guests, and both adults and children headed for the dance floor. Some of the guests began to trickle out the door, as it was past ten o'clock, so the place grew less crowded. Larry asked Rally to dance, one of his cousins took gallant charge of May, and soon they were gyrating in the changing colored lights from the stage. Little girls in bright dresses bounced up and down between the couples. Naturally Larry was a good dancer, sure of foot and able to fake his way through a two-step, so by the time Rally took a break to sit down and drink something, she was smiling and a little sweaty.

Many glances and smiles came her way from the Sams' friends and relatives as she crossed the room on Larry's arm; she knew she was the source of a great deal of speculation. A group of old men called Larry aside, so she headed for the table where Larry's mother and eldest sister were sitting with May. Emerald, Jade and Cassandra were all dancing, and seemed to have enough energy to go all night.

"That's a nice cheongsam. You look good in Chinese clothes." Vanessa reached up to take Rally's hand, and then pulled her down to speak in her ear. "I'm pretty sure you didn't pick it on purpose, so don't get too upset, OK?"

"What?"

"You're probably wondering why everyone's hypothesizing even harder about you and Larry than they were before tonight."

"OK, why?"

"That's a dragon and phoenix pattern."

Rally sat and looked down at her brocade front. She had loved the intricate colors on the red ground and the style of the elaborate frogs that closed the top, so she hadn't taken long to select her party dress. "What about the pattern? It's pretty, isn't it?"

"Dragon is male, phoenix is female. Male and female combined, get it?" She made a joined-hands gesture and raised her brows.

Rally's jaw dropped, but she covered her mouth and tried to muffle her yelp. "This is a _wedding dress?"_

"Chinese brides change outfits a couple of times during the marriage festivities, so that's a flexible designation." Vanessa glanced from side to side and spoke even lower. "But yeah, if this was a wedding banquet and you were the bride, that's exactly what you would be wearing at this point in the proceedings."

"Oh, shit!" Rally flushed as red as the brocade and crossed her arms over her chest. "I didn't know!"

"Of course you didn't. They all realize that—they're not laughing at you. They just think it's awfully cute."

"Oh, man…May! Why didn't you tell me this was a Chinese wedding dress?"

"Huh?" May looked up with a mouthful of sweet custard tart. "Wedding dress? What would I know about weddings?"

"Never mind!" She glared at Vanessa. "Oh, gee, why'd you have to tell me? Now I'm going to be all self-conscious."

Vanessa shrugged and smiled. "I wanted to see how you'd react. Don't worry, you passed."

Rally threw up her hands and went to find Larry with her cheeks still hot. Why hadn't he told her first? Because he thought she'd worn the dress as a signal? He was talking to Smith with a glass of 7-Up in his hand.

"You just tell me when you want that letter of recommendation." Smith clapped Larry on the shoulder. "It'll be in the mail as fast as I can type."

"Thank you, sir. For everything."

"No problem, kid. Happy to be of service."

Rally looked from one to the other. "Letter of recommendation for what?"

"Quantico." Larry actually blushed.

"Quantico? You're going to join the—?"

"That's right. I'm looking into becoming an FBI agent."

Rally clapped her hands together, suddenly overjoyed. Maybe she wasn't cut out for Justice, but Larry? Somehow it seemed perfect. "Going to fight the Triads officially?"

Larry nodded with quiet purpose. "It's my life's work anyway. I might as well carry it on full-time."

"This man is going to be a damn valuable agent," said Smith with an air of pride. "He may be self-taught, but he's probably one of the foremost experts on Triad operations in this country. And I'm the one who recruited him. Not a bad item to put at the bottom of my service record." He stuck out his hand and gave Larry's a hearty shake.

Maybe Wojohowicz had mentioned the FBI to her at her boss's instigation. If so, he must have known it was a very long shot, but at least he had a protégé now. "Larry…I need to talk to you." Rally nodded at Smith and drew Larry towards the main door where it was a little quieter.

"Sure." A warm smile and a glance that made her quiver a little. He put his glass down and pushed the door open. "Here, let's go outside for some fresh air."

"Good idea. It's getting sort of stuffy. Not to mention loud!" They walked down the front steps of the hall and circled through the parking lot.

"I saw Vanessa talking to you. Something about…?"

Rally laughed. "Oh, Larry! I wish I'd taken your sisters along when I shopped for a Chinese dress. It seems I've turned up in the equivalent of a white lace gown and veil!"

"And you look absolutely beautiful in it, Rally." Heading around the side of the building, they came out in an enclosed space at the rear of the hall with a loading dock and an alley in back that led out to the street. A dumpster sat next to the loading dock. They passed a couple of truck trailers belonging to a party rental supplier that were parked by the wall of the next building.

"Gee…thank you, but I think I need to mention that I didn't…"

Larry led her down the vacant truck ramp to a somewhat concealed spot at the base of the loading dock and paused there. A single shaded light over the freight doors cast a circle of illumination but left the alley and the farther reaches of the space in darkness. "Rally…I am so proud of you. My parents are impressed beyond words. You were wonderful tonight. Why didn't you tell me you'd been studying Chinese etiquette?"

"Uh…well…I just sort of picked it up here and there." She gave a sheepish grin.

"Their friends were impressed too. My father gained a lot of respect by honoring such polite guests. And, of course…" Larry looked down, smiling almost tremulously, and reached for her hand. "Now they have no doubts about you. At all. You could have been born Chinese."

"That's a very sweet compliment, Larry."

"When my father said you had a place in our family, it was hard not to whoop out loud. Surprised the heck out of me, I'll tell you!"

"It kind of startled me too. I know you're very big on family."

"It's hard to overstate that. I may be a modern man of the world—but I'm Chinese and a Sam first. My family will always be the most important connection I have."

"Well, your parents including me and May in that connection is just about the highest honor I can imagine receiving from anyone. I'm very grateful."

"You really think so? I'm glad about that." Larry took her free hand, so she reclaimed the other. A pure and powerful emotion lit up his handsome, intelligent features. "I'm so happy it was you who saved me…because I don't know to whom I'd rather owe a debt like that. I'd like to try to pay it off for the rest of my days."

"What is this, save a guy's life and you're responsible for him forever?" She laughed and poked him in the ribs.

"You've saved my life not once, but three times. Somewhere in there I guess I got a clue to my own feelings. And now, I know I need to go for broke and quit worrying about the details. Almost dying will do that to a man."

"Uh…well, that sounds nice." How could she politely decamp to a public place? Quickly, before she had to hurt a nice man she really liked? "Um, it's getting a little chilly out here—"

"I hope this doesn't come as a shock, but I have to tell you. I will never be able to forget you, Rally; as a matter of fact…" Larry drew her into his arms. "I love you."

"Oh my God—Larry, I don't know what to say—"

His mouth came down on hers, a gentle kiss turning into something more ardent. A strange sensation stirred in her: soft, warm, safe and tender. It was nothing like the way she felt in Bean's arms. For an extended moment she hung in a rose-colored limbo, one part of her longing to return his feelings. Larry Sam would be a wonderful, considerate lover...and an eternally devoted husband, which he clearly was going to propose to her. Only a fool would turn him down. Wouldn't she?

"Larry—" Rally turned her face, but laid her head against his chest, where his heart beat hard.

"Please. Won't you stay longer in San Francisco? Or come back soon?" His face was flushed and earnest, filled with yearning. An awful pang penetrated her. "I love you. I've known it for weeks and I've never been so happy, even when I was fearing for my life. Thinking of you is what kept me going and helped me heal. Could you ever—"

"I…I don't know." Rally drew back a little in his embrace, guilt and distress twisting inside her. "I like you. So much."

Disappointment subdued his expression, but the light still remained in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot. But I had to tell you tonight, before you left for home. I hoped maybe you already knew."

"I think I had an idea." A tear trickled down her cheek. Larry bent and kissed it away. "Oh God, Larry, I'm so sorry. You're the sweetest guy…"

"Please, will you consider it? I would never pressure you, my darling. I just don't want to let you slip away."

On an impulse she put her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his shoulder. Larry held her close, rocking slightly from side to side. What was love, or the seeds of love? This warm, vague feeling of friendship and sort-of attraction? If you held on tight enough, if you didn't look around or move away or think about it, could warmth grow into something more? Passion wasn't everything, passion faded with familiarity and even turned to hatred—her parents' vicious fights had proved that to her over and over. It might be better to start small. Lower your sights to the possible, never hang your hopes on the moon and stars, because people were only human. No one person's love could set fire to every corner of your soul…

Some distance away, someone coughed. Rally looked over Larry's shoulder and spied the glow of a cigarette by the corner of one of the parked trailers. Lit with a match, drawn on until bright and taken from the mouth. Briefly, the flame vignetted a long, angular face and a mane of black hair.

"Bean?" Rally whispered. "Oh…my God."

Larry started and turned, his arms still around Rally. "What? Bean Bandit?"

The cigarette glowed again and moved. "Yeah." Bean's voice sounded scratchy and harsh. "That's me."

A tall dark shape detached itself from the trailer and rotated its head on its muscular neck. Rally knew that stance: that measured, leonine, lethal power. She gripped Larry closer, her heart suddenly pounding.

"Sneaked away from the crowd fer a little hanky-panky with yer sweetie, I guess." The slow, deliberate cracking of Bean's knuckles echoed off the surrounding walls. "So how you makin' out there…Loverboy?"

He spat out the last word like a bit of gnawed bone.


	27. Chapter 27

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Larry's arms tensed around her. He quivered like a young tree in a high wind. But he didn't make a run for it—there wasn't anywhere to go except straight past Bean. Slowly he released Rally and moved to the side.

Bean walked towards them, a hulking silhouette in the dark. One orange coal, like a single malevolent eye, gleamed in the center of his face where the cigarette smoldered.

Rally didn't feel very confident herself. The little Du0 in her thigh holster wasn't quickly accessible under her narrow skirt. Bean would only sneer at it anyway. He was a few yards from them now on the top of the truck ramp, within the pool of light over the freight entrance. The look on his face was plain. She shivered.

He halted and examined them as they huddled at the bottom of the ramp, and removed the cigarette from his mouth. Suppressing a cough, he dropped it and stepped on it, then ground it dead on the rough pavement with an abrupt, vindictive turn of his boot.

Rally drew in a sharp breath. Larry made a palms-out gesture of conciliation or self-defense, shaking so hard he wobbled.

Bean examined him with a slow and insolent gaze, as if he meant to flay him down to the bone and find him wanting. "Looks like the pair of ya are havin' an awful good party out here, Sam. Guess I'll hafta take ya up on that invite."

He zipped his jacket down and shrugged it open with a creak of heavy leather.

This wasn't a fair fight. It was two against one, Rally was armed, and they still didn't have a chance in hell. If Bean meant to beat Larry to death in front of her, there wasn't a thing she could do to prevent it. She realized he wouldn't hesitate to strike her if she tried to run away or fetch help. His heavy boots scraped on the ramp as he approached.

Rally hitched up her dress, trying to work the narrow hem up her thighs. Maybe if she bounced a few shots off the freight doors above them she could attract attention from the hall. In the face of a dozen cops and FBI agents, Bean might decide to back off. Assuming he wasn't dead set on assassination, and that was a big assumption.

But even if she could ward him off tonight, what about tomorrow, or next week? Was this the reason he had finally shown up—to demonstrate exactly how he felt about her by tearing his rival apart? What was he doing? If Bean harmed Larry, her future was determined, and it wouldn't be in Chicago after all.

Angry loyalty surged through her. This was a matter of honor: family honor. The vicious son of a bitch! She'd show him—she'd tell Larry yes and to hell with anything else!

"Bean, if you even touch—" she got out. He ignored her.

He walked right up to Larry and backed him into a corner of the loading dock until they stood almost chest to chest, Bean towering over Larry by three-quarters of a head. Raising his hands to his breastbone, Bean cracked one more knuckle with a loud snap. Larry jumped, and Bean lifted his upper lip in a cross between a grin and a snarl.

Hands closing into huge knotted fists, he casually tapped them together, his sharp eyes never leaving Larry. Those fists could break glass, split flesh, splinter bone. Rally felt almost sick with dread.

Larry's face was gray and moist, but he looked straight up at Bean and set his trembling jaw. Bean lifted a brow.

Stitches popping in her seams, Rally bared her legs to the waist, not caring in the least that she was flashing her underwear and garter belt. Frantically she scrabbled for the gun. Just as she got it out, Bean finally glanced around.

"Relax, Vincent. Somebody might get hurt." Only a slight turn of his head in her direction. He didn't look into her eyes.

"What?" The Du0 fell to the ground. Bean abandoned Larry, who sagged like his hamstrings had been cut.

"C'mon, babe. If I was aimin' to spoil his pretty face, I'd've done it already." He sounded weary, cynical. "I ain't that kind." Stooping for a moment, he retrieved Rally's gun and tossed it into her grasp, still not looking straight at her.

Larry didn't look convinced. "Is that so? You didn't come here to—"

"Oh, yeah, that's right. Think I got somethin' for you." Bean put his hand in his jacket and pulled something from an interior pocket. Rally tensed, but it was only a folded bandanna. He took Larry's wrist, placed the little bundle into his hand and released him.

"Wh-what's this?" Larry stared at the bandanna.

"Wedding present." The sarcasm covered something else. Bean stalked up the ramp, his back hunched. At the top, he halted for a moment and glanced over his shoulder at Larry. "Go on, Loverboy, kiss her again. I ain't interfering." He kicked the side of the dumpster with a thunderous bang, inflicting a dent six inches deep, and turned away.

Rally burst out in anger. "Bean, you jerk, were you standing there _listening_ to us? Because—"

"No, I wasn't, babe." He walked swiftly towards the back alley. "I didn't hear what you said. Not like I needed to."

Rally yanked her dress down, left Larry hyperventilating against the wall and ran after Bean. Her heels caught in the pavement cracks and the skirt felt like a straitjacket. "Wait just a doggone minute, you big bully! I've got something to say to—"

"Hey, hey. What's all the noise?" Pete Smith stood next to the trailers, a glass in his hand and Wojohowicz right behind him. "That you, Bandit? You just arrive at the party? Come have a drink!" He shaded his eyes from the overhead light and waved an invitation to Bean with the glass. Rally stopped where she was: halfway between Larry, under the light of the loading ramp, and Bean, who had paused in the darkness of the alley. She swiveled her head to look at each of them in turn.

"Hey, Smith." Bean gave him a curt nod. "Sorry, I'm leavin'."

"What the hell?" Smith appealed to Larry. "This is the man who saved your life, kid! You're the damn host and he oughta be the biggest guest of honor, no offense to you, Miss Rally. Ain't you even going to ask him to step into the hall?"

Bean stopped and sauntered back towards them until he stood at the edge of the circle of light. Rally retreated and returned to Larry. With one contemptuous glance Bean surveyed them all, not sparing Rally and pausing on Larry. His nasty grin was a challenge. Rally bristled.

"Come on in, Bean." Larry's voice shook, but he came forward, gripped Rally's hand and went on in a calmer tone. "My parents would never forgive me if I let you leave without giving them a chance to thank you."

Bean looked surprised and even slightly chastened. "Thanks, but I gotta blow."

"A lot of the guests have gone home, Bandit, if that's what's worrying you. It's just the family and best friends and some of us bums in law enforcement. The cops are too drunk to care who you are. The band's playing till one A.M. and the party's just getting up some real steam." Smith walked up to him and clapped him on the back. "Come with me, Roadbuster. We'll pour a couple of double Scotches and shoot the shit for a while. Hey, you got that 'Vette parked somewhere around here?"

Wojohowicz stood a little distance away, her eyes on Bean and her hand at her necklace. "Hello, Bandit."

He gave her an appraising glance and half-smile. "Hey there, Agent Sue. Lookin' good."

"Thank you." She came closer and held out a hand to him. "We all want to congratulate you properly, Bean. Please? I don't think we're going to get another chance."

"Well, if it's going to get done all proper an' everything, I guess I can't say no." He took Wojohowicz's hand, drew her towards him and put an arm around her waist. She wasn't that much shorter than him in her spike heels. "Band's playin', huh? I think I feel like dancin'." Bean grinned and pivoted to the left to put her into a dip. Wojohowicz let out a little laughing shriek.

Rally and Larry trailed after Bean and the FBI agents, not speaking. Larry still looked pale, though he was not trembling any more. He held the outer door for her, and stopped her in the vestibule when the rest of the party had gone through the inner doors into the main hall.

"Would you have shot him? I mean, if he'd attacked me?"

"God, Larry! This gun wouldn't have helped." She hiked her skirt again and put it away. Larry averted his eyes and blushed. After painstakingly straightening her stockings with the aid of a big gold-framed mirror hanging on the wall of the vestibule that faced the inner doors, she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress and checked the back with a look over her shoulder. "I'd have needed my assault rifle to make much impression on him. When he's wearing that jacket—"

"That's not what I asked you." His face clouded. "He's still after you. Why would he play that game if he wasn't trying to force us apart? And the way you—"

"Larry…" She put a hand on his shoulder. "Did Agent Smith tell you Bean and I slept together a little while after I met you?"

"What?"

"No, Pete's a gentleman. As far as that goes." She chewed her lips and tried to think of how to put this. "I'm not Bean's girlfriend and I never was. I'm as single as they come—I wouldn't dream of two-timing anyone. But I've got to be honest with you, especially after what you just told me." Rally took a deep breath. "I had several varieties of consensual sex with Bean on two separate occasions before he took off with that suitcase of cash."

A painful conflict distorted his features, but his brow quickly smoothed again. "What I said still applies, Rally. I don't care what he's done to you or why. I love you."

"I…I'm grateful to you." She swallowed hard and moved her hand to his chest. Larry covered it with his own. "That's a wonderful compliment, because you're a wonderful guy. So you have to know that there is a…connection…between me and Bean. It was there before I met you. It's not likely to just go away. I guess he's not going to hurt you, and maybe that's for my sake. I don't believe he'll use every possible method at his disposal to try to be with me. But after everything he's done, I know he's always going to be present in one way or another wherever I am. He's just…inevitable."

"I can deal with that." Larry compressed his lips and squeezed her hand. "You're an incredible woman with amazing talents. You've coped with so much violence and evil, and you've done a lot of good in the world. I want to do the same things with my life that you have—you helped me find my true vocation, I think. So knowing that there are some shadows on your past is just a fact of life." He smiled without showing his teeth. "Anyway, he saved my scrawny li'l Chinese-American ass. Even if he's regretting it now, I owe him a great debt."

"Thank you, Larry. You're a sweetheart." They embraced, and went into the banquet hall.

* * *

The cooks and waiters had gone home, so Mr. Sam happily took over the kitchen and fired up the stoves again. The Sam girls ran back and forth with hot platters. Mrs. Sam hovered over Bean, refilling his glass every time he took a gulp. He sat at the head table in Rally's place with his jacket hanging on the back of his chair, eating rapidly with Smith on his right hand and Wojohowicz on his left. Sams and friends of Sams crowded into the remaining places and drew up extra chairs two and three deep around the table while Smith held forth on the rescue and consulted Bean on details.

He didn't seem to be paying much attention to the adulating throng, but glanced up once in a while and gave Wojohowicz the eye. Within a few minutes, he had her blushing and fluttering, glancing covertly around and at her boss to check whether anyone else had noticed. They were probably playing footsie under the table. Rally rolled her eyes and walked past.

Larry drew Rally onto the dance floor and held her, rocking slowly. The band settled down to a sensual, piano-laden rhythm with a brushed snare. Rally rested her hand on one of his shoulders and propped her chin on the other. Larry seemed to be trying to shut out the rest of the room, the rest of the world. He whispered into her hair, speaking sweet, loving words that gave her almost as much pain as pleasure.

What a strange night, a strange feeling in the depths of her body and soul. She'd never thought that a man or men could roil her world like this. Larry's hand, cradling her shoulder, felt warm and gentle. She laid her cheek against his and shut her eyes.

"Yeah, I kinda like slow-dancin' best." That was Bean, some alcohol obvious in his voice. "C'mon, Sue. Snuggle up a little closer, hey?" He sounded flirtatious and humorous, but coarse and suggestive at the same time. It might have been that awful rasp he had, as if he had been shouting at the top of his lungs.

Rally looked over Larry's shoulder. He hadn't broken rhythm, though she felt tension in his arms and jaw. Bean and Wojohowicz were right in her line of sight. At first she saw only Bean's broad shoulders with a woman's hands wrapped around them, but he turned and Rally got an eyeful. Bean's hands were planted just below Wojohowicz's waist; as Rally watched, he slid them deliberately downwards and squeezed her bottom. Wojohowicz jumped, and he moved his hands a few inches upwards again. With another turn, Bean looked Rally in the eyes.

She immediately shut them and averted her face; his intention was crudely plain. If she gave him the slightest reaction he would keep it up until she blew her lid at him and humiliated herself and her hosts. Well, this night of all nights he was not going to pull that off. It didn't matter what he did or who he groped; she didn't care.

"I think I'll sit the next one out, Larry." Rally left the floor with him when the song ended, retrieved her evening bag and went to the women's restroom. For a few minutes she hid in the privacy of a stall, brooding and picking at her nail polish while girls at the sinks chattered in Cantonese. This evening had just about burned itself out as far as she was concerned, and she wished she could slip away, drive home in her beloved car and take off the glad rags. But a guest of honor couldn't bail yet, not with the party still going strong and the Sams showing no sign of wrapping things up. She emerged from the stall when the restroom was vacant, fixed her makeup and headed out.

In front of the recess in the back wall where the restrooms were located, a small forest of potted palms screened the doors from the view of the diners. Rally had just started to go around them when she heard a man's voice say her name in a sneering way. She stopped short.

"Yeah, that's right. Pete's little brown girlfriend. Bob gave me all the dirt on her—she's the reason he's getting transferred to Boise."

A drunken snort. "No shit?"

"No shit. You got to hear the rest of this—it gets pretty wild. So apparently the detective was holding this guy off with one gun and not doing so well, and the agents got there just in time, and this guy—he's got his mitts on that dyke who works with Pete, see him?—he starts spouting off about her. Seems he nailed her and he wanted everybody to know it."

"Hey, I think I'd brag about bagging that piece of tail."

"Well, no shit. He starts describing everything in magnificent detail—like how she came on to him and sucked his dick, and from what Bob said, she sounds like a sizzler. And this guy is apparently some hood from Chicago."

"Looks it."

"Doesn't he? He's the one who broke Bob's nose and cut his face. Yeah, real dickhead."

"Maybe we ought to get some of the guys and, you know, teach him a lesson."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad to me, but he's Pete's latest crush, obviously. Him and the piece of tail. You get the picture? She's got to be banging Pete as well as this hood and the detective, and I guess the Chinese kid into the bargain."

"I see your point. Maybe I could get some of that action. Must be a rip-roarin' little slut, huh?"

"Oh, she looks it. You seen how she struts her stuff? Hey, I haven't spotted her on the dance floor for a while. Where'd she go?"

"She went to the ladies' room, fellas." Rally stepped out and put her hands on her hips. Two FBI agents with their coats off and a mostly empty bottle on the table between them looked up in startlement. "Where she was pulling a train with every guy in uniform here. Too bad you Feds don't rate a sexy outfit with the job. But just maybe, I could make an exception." She sashayed towards them, swinging her bottom and rolling her shoulders. Mesmerized, they let her take their drinks, one in each hand.

Ice and all, she emptied the drinks in their owners' laps and let the glasses fall to the carpet. She flipped off the two culprits as they groaned in agony, one middle finger for each, and stalked out into the hall.

Sitting with May, eating sweets and drinking Chivas was all she really wanted to do for the rest of the evening. Larry looked tired and strained—he wasn't that long out of the hospital either—and so she gently declined another dance. The guest list dwindled steadily over the next half-hour; the well-soaked agents who had been talking trash about her deserted right away, and many others had taken that as the cue to say good night.

But several dozen people remained, and in this cavernous place the party seemed like an intimate family affair, as it almost literally was. The mood became looser and livelier, even with the elders looking on; many of them were nodding or talking in loud, tipsy voices. All attention and all conversation seemed to swirl around one major focus: Bean Bandit.

Dancing with the same few boys in rotation, the Sam twins whispered and giggled behind their hands while they darted curious glances at him. Emerald hung around Bean's vicinity, saying nothing to him but apparently checking out his ass. Even Vanessa seemed impressed with him, though obviously not in the same way her sisters were. She sat with Larry for a long time, speaking with him in low and serious tones.

Eventually the sweets ran low and the whiskey felt like it was drinking her rather than the other way around, so Rally got up to circulate. Someone walked up behind her and let out a scratchy cough.

"Hey, Rally." She looked around, putting as much chill into her expression as she could manage. "Wanna dance?"

Maybe Bean wasn't as drunk as he sounded, but he was certainly getting there. He had a ruthless gleam in his eye and several untidy locks of hair hanging over his forehead. He had just left the dance floor with Wojohowicz, who immediately poured herself a drink with what sounded to Rally like a sigh of relief.

"Oh, I thought you had a partner," said Rally with artificial brightness. "You're not dumping Sue already, are you? You two were getting along SO well."

"Aw, she's getting tired." He grabbed a bottle and drank a long slug straight from it, brought up a whiskey-laden belch that ruffled Rally's hair and wiped his mouth on his forearm.

Rally's eyes watered. She fanned the air in front of her face. "I can certainly understand that. I've gotten tired of you plenty of times."

Bean wrinkled his nose. "'Course, dancin' with you might be hazardous to my health." He leaned closer. "Gettin' my balls busted ain't my idea of a good time with a woman."

"Well, then we're even. Trying to avoid getting asphyxiated and prying fingers off my butt isn't my idea of a good time with a man."

They glowered at each other.

"Aw," said Smith from the nearest table, obviously completely sloshed. "Ain'tcha two gonna take the floor? Yer pardners! Ya work together like…like…" He searched for a simile. "Well, ya work together, that's all. Be a durn shame if ya didn't take a turn oncet." He hiccupped, whacked Bean on the back and wandered off, probably in search of another bottle.

"Yes," said Wojohowicz with a slightly forced smile. "Rally, please do—I'm going to sit out for a while." She looked a little mauled; her dress was wrinkled, her hair somewhat disarranged, and her cheeks very pink. However, she threw Bean a glance that had more attraction than caution in it, and walked away. Bean shrugged and turned to Rally with an inquiring smirk.

"Oh, you want to dance with me? Fine. Let's see if I get my money's worth." She put her hands against his chest and pushed him backwards onto the dance floor. "And keep your grubby paws off my personal property, or I'm going to make you wish you had." Rally gave Bean an evil look and stuck one hand in the air.

He grabbed it, whipped an arm around her waist, and hurled her in a circle. They nearly collided with another couple. Rally stumbled, regained her balance and delivered a sharp kick to Bean's shin with the pointed toe of her shoe. He jerked, glared at her and stepped full-weight on her right foot. Luckily he didn't break her instep, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Rally hopped and cursed.

The band started a fast number and she wrenched her hand out of Bean's. Dislodging his arm from her waist didn't prove as easy; he yanked her right up against him and led her steps by dogged force. After a moment of pointless struggle Rally gave up and worked instead on wedging a few inches of air between their torsos. When they were in some kind of sync with the music, she took a quick peek at Bean's face.

He didn't look angry or triumphant; his eyes were fixed on a point well above her head and his jaw was tight. She looked away just as he glanced down. They were silent through the number, Rally unconsciously relaxing as she concentrated on the beat, and when a slow song came up next, Bean moved in a little closer and embraced her.

Rally stiffened. Her cheek hovered just an inch from his chest, his body surrounding her with an aura of sweat and whiskey. Several tiny spots of sauce had stained his T-shirt, so she focused on them in an effort to ignore what was happening.

A familiar warmth radiated from him, soaking into her skin. From the simmering action of that heat on the ferment of her mind and body, an incandescent fluid seemed to distill itself. It seeped through her marrow and muscles, softening every joint and tense fiber; she bit her lips and tried to freeze it out, but nothing would dam the flow.

The outward curve of her breasts flattened against Bean's chest and she felt his ribcage swell with a deep sigh. As if impelled, she looked up again at his face.

Their eyes met. She swallowed hard, dropped her gaze and then rejoined his. Bean's nostrils flared and his lips twitched. Was he about to speak, or try to kiss her?

He did neither. His hands seemed to mark her through her dress as they drew her in. Rally let her arms circle his waist, her palms curve over the solid muscles of his back. Her eyes drifted half-closed so that she saw everything through the dim veil of her lashes. He watched her with equal concentration, his mouth slightly open and his tongue touching his lips as if he was savoring the smell of her arousal on the rising air. She had been wrong about her attraction to Larry. It would never grow to equal anything like this, not even if they stayed together for the rest of their lives. The seeds of friendship were nothing like the seeds of love.

Her eyes snapped open; she quivered. What was she thinking?

Bean drew a quick, avid breath. They were so near to each other that she could sense his smallest movements, detect the heavy beat of his heart. And so he also could feel her in every detail; his body seemed to invade hers skin-deep, an exploring contact that sought to penetrate through any chink she might open to him. She yielded, letting him delve into her, allowing his breath to enter her nostrils, their bodies to merge together, his searching thoughts to brush hers for the briefest of instants. Bean bowed over her, his loose hair touching her forehead.

"Rally," he murmured. "Oh, woman…" A warm and tingling flush blanketed her. "My car's right down the block. Come with me, baby…I want you."

Her face flamed red-hot, her eyesight blurring. Through her roaring ears, she could hardly make out his raspy voice, though his words seemed to fill her whole mind. "That kid's not for you. I am. I'm the one you want. Please, darlin'. Come with me."

He cupped her head with his fingers lacing through her hair, nuzzled her ear with his gusty breaths further blasting her hearing. Was he actually trembling? "I'm gonna take you straight out of this goddamn town, Rally, and I'm gonna get you in a nice room. I'm gonna get that stinkin' Chink dress off you and kiss you everywhere." His parted lips rubbed against her cheek. "Oh, baby, I'm gonna fuck you so—"

'That's not funny, Bean!" A cold surge of fury spoke for her. Her vision cleared, her melting limbs froze again into their rightful form. "What the hell makes you think I'm the kind of slut that would run off with some hood who threatens my friends?"

Bean's face, pale and stunned, satisfied her anger for an instant. His body tensed and drew back from hers, though he didn't let go of her. The nearest dancers looked at them with wide eyes. The band wrapped up the song and Rally put an elbow in Bean's stomach. He let out a grunt and dropped his hands.

* * *

The next time she glanced at the dance floor, while grimly combining the remains of four abandoned bottles into one glass, Bean had dragged Wojohowicz out there again. May came over and gingerly sat down.

"How you doing, Rally? You think maybe we should go home?"

"Are you tired?"

"Not really. I've been having a good conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Sam. I was thinking about you."

Rally sighed and took a drink with her hand on the back of a chair. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Maybe Larry's rested up enough to take a turn with me. After tangling it up with Bean, though, I'm not sure I ever want to do it again!" She looked over her shoulder and saw Bean deeply engaged with his partner, his hands sliding everywhere he wanted to put them with no visible resistance from her. Apparently he was out to seduce every woman in the room, the dirty dog.

Then that connection she had imagined they both felt, his sweet-talk of desire and bed, was nothing but an underhanded ploy to make her commit herself. Then he could laugh in her face, or sneer at her for a panting little hussy and advertise his conquest to all hearers. He might even have gone through with it, just to humiliate her to the greatest possible extent. She made a silent snarl and looked back at May.

"Were you dancing or engaging in combat? Geez, Rally—everybody was looking at you guys and whispering. Even after you quit physically attacking each other, you could cut the hostility with a knife. I just couldn't watch any more."

"So give me a knife. I'll slice him up as small as you like." Rally plopped down in a seat, banged her glass on the table and sulked with her chin propped on her hands. "God, just look at him go at Sue. Not ten minutes after he asked me to—he is SUCH a—"

"He's trying to make you jealous, Rally."

"Well, duh!" She took another swig.

"And you're upping the ante. Try showing him that your feelings are hurt and he'll probably back off."

"Are you nuts? That's just what he wants! I wouldn't give him the satisfaction."

May sighed. "Have it your way. I don't think I'd choose to go head to head with Bean Bandit on anything at all, but hey, it's your funeral."

"Ha. He'll be the one crying in his beer, not me!" She gave a fierce grin and boxed with an invisible opponent. "Yah! Take that, you bum!"

"Rally…"

She got up with her glass, thoroughly drunk and thoroughly angry, and went to find someone to talk to who didn't know Bean.

* * *

Back in the restroom with her head in a sink, splashing her face with cold water. She was starting to sober up just a little. Rally abruptly stood up and knocked her bag to the floor when the door opened.

It was Wojohowicz, looking extremely upset. They stared at each other for a moment, and then the agent went into a stall and banged the door shut. Rally grabbed for a paper towel to dry her face and quickly fixed her makeup again. The toilet flushed and Wojohowicz came out. After washing her hands, she leaned on the counter and looked at Rally, who fumbled cosmetics back into her bag. Her lipstick fell to the floor and she bent to get it.

Wojohowicz picked it up and caught her by the wrist. Rally tensed, ready for a confrontation, but the agent had tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Rally…I had no idea. When I saw how you were looking at each other…"

"Sue?" Rally stood up with a knot in her stomach.

"Bean's just playing with me, isn't he?" Wet tracks crawled down her cheeks. "This is some kind of game with the two of you."

"It's his game, not mine. I'm sorry he decided to take it this far."

"Oh, God, Rally, it's my own fault. I couldn't help it…he's got me absolutely nuts. When he grabbed me after you left him there…I mean, he was certainly flirting before, but oh, God, what he said to me just now! I had to get away, or I might have let him..." She gulped and blew her nose on a paper towel. "And…and now I realize what it's like between you and him, and I just couldn't do that to you. I'm so sorry…"

Rally gritted her teeth. She had heard exactly what the bastard was saying to women tonight. "Look, I know Bean. The last person I'm going to blame is you."

Suddenly Wojohowicz's muscular arms were locked around her neck, and the agent sobbed boozy tears on her shoulder. "I hate men. I hate them."

"Believe me, I know how you feel." She patted the drooping blonde curls with a sigh. "At least in regard to that guy. Us girls have got to stick together just in self-defense."

"I know... You might have heard a few rumors about me in the Bureau…they're true. I totally swore off men after college. And I stuck to it…until I met him." She drew a deep, weepy breath. "Oh, God, how could this happen? I'm twenty-eight. I feel like a teenager at the prom."

"Bean can pull the rug out from under anyone who thinks she has a good handle on who she is. I don't know how he does it. Must be a gift."

Wojohowicz was silent for a few moments, quivering. "I think I love him."

"_What?_ Sue, you've drunk too much Chivas. You'll feel differently in the morning!" Rally stared at her own image in the mirror over Wojohowicz's heaving shoulders, her eyes huge and dark. Love Bean?

Oh, she knew Bean. She knew Bean better than he knew himself. She had read documents about him that he had no idea even existed. How could facts ever be a defense against him? Waking up in the morning had never made a lasting difference to how she felt about Bean. She kept coming back to the same damn thing—the heat of his embrace, his voice, the look in his eyes. No matter what she told another woman by way of warning, it wouldn't do a bit of good.

She mustered a laugh and stroked Wojohowicz's head. "Aw, I bet the big pervert's just trying to provoke a catfight. Guess he'd get a kick watching a blonde and a brunette pull out each other's hair!"

Wojohowicz giggled, snuffling tears into Rally's dress. "I guess he would. What do you think we should do?"

"Don't do anything on my account, OK? Dance with Bean if you want—I'm certainly not going to. I'll just keep on ignoring him no matter what he does. Eventually he'll have to admit defeat, and then I'll dance on his grave! Figuratively speaking…I think." She narrowed her eyes. "Believe me, he's never going to make me crack again. Not after he's been such a cast-iron asshole all night."

"You really don't…mind?" Wojohowicz raised her face and blinked at Rally. "I…I watched you slow-dancing…I thought both of you were going to melt down right there. R-Rally, you must know he's crazy about—"

"Then I'll wrap him up in ribbons and make you a present of him. Much good may it do you!"

"Thank you." She kissed Rally on the cheek. And again. And on the mouth. Her lips parted and her tongue probed; for a moment they engaged in a deep, wet smooch.

Not entirely surprised at this turn of events, Rally backed off half a foot and smiled at Wojohowicz. "There, there, Sue. You're drunk, and so am I. Let's not take advantage of each other."

"I'm so goddamn horny…the things he said to me..." She looked plaintively at Rally and stroked her cheek. "You look so pretty tonight. I'm good with my tongue, OK? There's usually plenty of room for two in the wheelchair stalls."

Rally turned bright red. "Sounds like you ought to know. Oh, hell…" Wojohowicz's hands cupped her breasts through her dress, and they kissed again, lingeringly. "You know, you have a point. If we blow off a little steam together, maybe Bean will lose his edge."

"Sounds good to me. Let's take the home-field advantage." Wojohowicz backed Rally into the end stall and locked the door. "How does that dress unfasten, anyway?"

* * *

No more than fifteen minutes later, Rally came out of the stall, straightened her dress and picked up her bag to refresh her lipstick. Wojohowicz borrowed it, plus some eyeshadow and blush to repair assorted other damages. Both of them were smiling and relaxed.

"OK, that definitely puts me in a better mood." Rally blotted her lipstick on a towel and gave Wojohowicz a thumbs-up. "Make him weep, sister." She headed out of the restroom with a swing in her walk.

As she passed the table where Larry and his sister were sitting, Vanessa rose, gave Larry's hand a squeeze, and came over to Rally. She looked a little rattled. Rally pointed her chin at an isolated table and took a bottle along just in case. Vanessa ran her hand over her face and adjusted a frog on her jacket.

"Well. Big brother's been telling me some kind of extraordinary things."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised. I'm glad he got a chance to talk to you. I think he's had a rough night." She poured a drink for Vanessa and another one for herself.

"Sounds like it." Stealing a glance at the head table, where Bean was drinking again, Vanessa sat down. "Did Bean Bandit really act like he was going to crack Larry's skull?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Because…um, he was your lover once or twice, and he didn't like it when he saw you with Larry." Vanessa raised her brows, though she didn't look precisely scandalized.

"I don't know. I guess it's possible. It's not always as easy to read that big bastard as it might look." Rally showed her teeth and sipped her Chivas. The stuff certainly went down easy. It was starting to taste like soda pop to her, even neat.

"I'll bet."

"As a matter of fact, it might have been more like some kind of stupid test…just to see what Larry was made of. If he'd begged or tried to run away and leave me there or…or if he hadn't invited Bean in even after thinking he was going to die, Bean probably would have kicked his ass. Not really hurt him, you know; just enough to make his point. Well, screw you, you big bully; he passed with flying colors!" She raised a toast towards Larry.

"That's the kind of thing Bean does?"

"Oh, you bet your booty." She narrowed her eyes at the head table. "Say, uh…did Larry figure out what that bandanna was about?"

Vanessa creased her forehead. "Bandanna? He didn't mention that."

"Oh, he probably threw it in the trash—never mind. Another of Bean's stupid little attempted mindfucks, I guess."

"Look, I actually wanted to talk to you so I could thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For not turning Larry down flat. I know that you might eventually have to mention that you're not planning to enter into an archaic feudal-patriarchal institution consisting of one person owning the body and procreation rights of another, but at least now he knows you don't have a problem with his ethnicity, or his sexuality. He's actually not feeling too bad about the whole thing right now."

"His sexuality? Oh…that he once, uh, slept with a man. 426, to be exact." Rally squinted and stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth, her head spinning with the effort of processing Vanessa's vocabulary.

"Yeah, something like that. He was glad you didn't try to bring that up when the subject of _your_ past was on the table."

"Oh, c'mon. Why would I? If he really liked men better than women, you'd think he'd have figured that out by now. Anyway, Lin Shaoqi is dead." Rally threw the last of her drink to the back of her throat. "Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead!"

"Yes, I guess he is. They haven't found his remains, you know." Vanessa shuddered slightly.

"His remains? After they got incinerated, crushed, and dumped into the bay? I'd be pretty fucking surprised if they had!" Rally cackled and gave Vanessa a hug around the shoulders. "To hell with him anyway, the self-important jerk. Don't start thinking about ghosts—it fucks up your priorities, believe me. Speaking of which, you did end up bringing, um, a friend?"

"My new roomie. She's over there talking to Emerald." Vanessa nodded with a shy smile.

"I don't want to be politically incorrect or anything, Vanessa, but she's really cute."

"Isn't she, though?" Vanessa let out a dreamy sigh. "But we agreed to more or less stay in the closet tonight, so I don't think we'll risk dancing with each other in front of my parents."

"They might not even notice." Rally leaned back in her seat. "Look, he's still got his adoring fan club around him. I wonder which girl he's going to try to nail this time. Though I guess he might not do it right where your mom and dad are watching."

Vanessa looked startled.

"Naw, it's OK. He won't grope the twins or anything—that's one thing you don't have to worry about with Bean! The stupid bastard's just hot to trot tonight, I guess, and it doesn't much matter what he can grab as long as it's female, over eighteen and dumb enough to fall for his stupid crap. At least Sue woke up in time—she could have woken up in the wrong fucking bed!"

Vanessa made an awkward face. "One of our cousins said that she heard you tell Bean off while he was dancing with you. Something about not being a, um, a slut."

"Yep, she heard right."

"Even though Bean apparently has a criminal reputation of some sort, I don't like to judge people by their relationship to the oppressive forces of the crypto-fascist police state, especially when they're disadvantaged urban males belonging to a racial minority. In other words, I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt—"

"Don't bother."

"So he was propositioning you for sex?" Vanessa looked even more uncomfortable. "And you were angry with him for doing it even though you've apparently slept with him under different circumstances? I'm kind of dancing all around a very personal question that might reflect on your relationship with your friend May but has some relevance both to my individual situation and to my brother's stated intentions regarding—"

"Well…uh…" Rally flushed and poured a tall one. "To tell you the absolute truth, if you want to use the physical-contact-to-orgasm definition I'm running about fifty-fifty…well, OK, more like seventy-thirty on strict mathematical principles, with the decision unfortunately going to you-know-who." She took a deep breath and a long drink. "Let's just say that I seem to have a flexible answer to your question but also that I can still keep count with no problem. Of course if it were up to Bean, I'd never screw anyone other than him again." Rally giggled—oh, wouldn't he like to know what she and Wojohowicz had just been doing in the toilet? "Other men, I mean!"

"Larry was already sure that was why Bean was here. He's afraid you might end up saying yes."

"Oh, come on! Do I look that fucking stupid?"

"It's not that he doesn't want you to be happy in the way you see fit. Nothing like that. He's just worried about Bean. How he might treat you, that is." Vanessa leaned a little closer. "I talked to your friend Roy Coleman. Back when Bean was at large with the drug money."

"He's still at large with drug money. It's only twelve mil this time instead of that fucking $500,000. It's the story of his stupid fucking life."

"Did he assault you?"

Rally flushed. "No. Speaking of stupid fucking, I was stupid enough to fuck him of my own accord. I told Larry that." She blinked and rubbed her eyes, growing aware that her blood-alcohol percentage was probably on a level with Smith's. Was she repeating herself?

"I know. I wasn't sure you told him the truth." Vanessa sighed and sat back. "I see you did."

"Of course, he's been stalking me ever since…can't get rid of him no matter how nasty I am to him!"

"What? What's he been doing?"

"Oh, hanging around the city…following me wherever I go…staking out the hospital while I was there. And of course tonight, the bum was lurking behind the dumpsters instead of coming in the front door even when he was invited. Doesn't have the balls to call my number, but he moons around outside buildings and nurses grudges."

Vanessa looked frightened. "_That _ guy is stalking you? Holy crap, what a nightmare. You want some of my larger cousins to walk you to your car? I mean, uh, when you're in better shape for driving?"

"No, no. He'd probably take that as a provocation. I have to make it crystal clear to him all by myself that I am not going to weaken, or I'll never see the end of it. Anyway, thanks for the nice concealable firearm, even if it doesn't have any ammo in it right now. I'll feel better just having that on me."

"I guess you will." Vanessa got up and touched Rally's shoulder. "Look, I'm not saying I wouldn't have liked you as a sister-in-law. But I think you've made the right decision, even though I know Larry wouldn't feel the same. You're not the same kind of people. He may think he loves you, but he doesn't understand you, not really. I'm not talking about national or ethnic origins, spiritual beliefs, basic value systems or personal tolerance of differences in all the above, of course."

"I know you aren't." Rally reached up and patted Vanessa's hand. "But there can be a lot of different kinds of people in a family, I hope."

"Oh, you bet. Real grab bag of Sams as it is." Vanessa bent over, dropped a light kiss on the top of Rally's head and stood up. "Good night, sister. Dad's adopted you, so that's definitely good enough for me." She smiled. "You know, I always wanted a sister who could kick any man's ass."

"Most men, maybe. There are one or two I'm still not sure about. Good night, sister!"

The Sams started cleaning up the remains of the event, with help from some of the young men who were still hanging around and two workers from the party rental company. The band played a few more tunes for the one or two couples left on the dance floor, and at 1:05 A.M., they said good night and turned off the sound system. Rally looked up from the cardboard box she was idly filling with empty whiskey bottles and saw Bean still standing near the stage, holding on to Wojohowicz's arm. She looked exhausted, her head drooping.

Rally hefted the box, handed it to one of the young men to take out to the recycling containers in back, and hunted for stray glasses with another box under her arm. She found two on the carpet near the restrooms and giggled at the memory of jerks with wet trousers. Wandering back towards the kitchen with her haul, she spotted a few more used glasses on a table near the main doors, which stood ajar. Through the gap she thought she glimpsed two people in the dimly lit vestibule. A woman protested in a low voice—it was Wojohowicz.

What the hell was Bean up to now? Did Wojohowicz need reinforcements? She set the box down and moved a little closer. It wasn't two people, exactly—it was their reflections in the big mirror than hung on the wall opposite her. They stood right under the shaded light, so their faces were clear against a dark background. Unless they happened to look at the mirror, they couldn't see her watching.

Bean stood with a hand planted on the wall, leaning over Wojohowicz. His head bent lower and his face turned to hers. A few more locks of his hair slipped down to conceal his eyes; he was whispering to her. The expression on her face gave Rally a pang. Wojohowicz looked up, temptation and desire shining in her eyes, and gave a tiny, apologetic shake of the head. Obviously he was urging her to let him spend the night at her apartment.

Wojohowicz reluctantly extricated herself from his grasp and moved a little distance away. She spoke to him, her spine straightening, and Bean rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall in a careless pose.

After all, she was an FBI agent. She took her job seriously. Harboring a wanted criminal, no matter how high her boss's private opinion of him, probably wasn't on the agenda. But Rally could tell she wanted to and was afraid she would give in anyway; her posture was consciously rigid and unbending. Poor girl. Bean stood up and captured her, a hand on her arm.

Rally began to turn away, disgusted with herself for even caring what he did. Wojohowicz had made her own bed in any case.

Bean's gaze swiveled. For an instant he looked straight into Rally's eyes. She froze—he had been watching her in the mirror just as she had been watching him. He yanked Wojohowicz into his embrace, bent her backwards and pressed her lips open with his.

Rally gasped and grabbed the heavy door for support, her head whirling. She wondered if she was going to be sick. This was going too damn far! Fooling around all night, trying to get her goat or score a few points was bad enough. Now he was using another woman like a bludgeon against her. Only her sudden fury with Bean for such a callous act kept her from crying out in pain and jealousy.

Wojohowicz's arms crept up around Bean's neck, and then she pushed on his shoulders and broke the kiss. He raised his head and let her stand up again, but didn't remove his arms from around her waist. Trembling, she put a hand on his chest and raised her face. Probably her defenses were nearly shot; the next kiss would overcome every scruple she had left, because it sure didn't look like Bean had lost his touch. No woman who wanted to keep her sanity should let that man get his lips on her more than once.

He bumped Wojohowicz's hips with his and backed her up. They moved into Rally's direct field of view, not three yards away.

If Bean had stabbed her in the heart and forced the blade straight through her to pin her like a butterfly, she might have understood why she was unable to look away or move. And why the pain was so sharp. Bean bit Wojohowicz's neck; her eyes closed and her mouth opened. Rally tightened her jaw to suppress a moan.

So he'd felt something like this when he had watched Larry kiss her? He'd done this to teach her a lesson? She longed to fling the door wide open and call Bean out for the heartless bastard he was. But would she do that from an unselfish desire to pull another woman back from the brink, or because she still wanted to run off that cliff herself? She seemed to plunge into thin air; her mouth distended in a silent cry.

Bean darted a glance straight at her, for a little longer this time, and Rally saw something flare in his eyes. She wished she had been able to conceal her feelings from him, but knew she had broadcast them in every detail. He turned his attention to the panting Wojohowicz, said something to her with a cruel smile curling his lips, and her expression changed.

Shock, distaste, even fear. Avoiding his obvious feint at another kiss, Wojohowicz averted her face. She spotted Rally and shoved Bean away.

"Vincent…um…well, good night." She brushed past, obviously deeply embarrassed, and scooped up her coat and purse. When she had gone, Rally turned to Bean with fists planted on her hips.

For a moment she breathed hard and gritted her teeth at him, speechless with anger. He looked at her with a strange expression, as if he had found something he had been searching for all night but wasn't sure what to do with it now that he had it. Seeming to fix on an idea, he wiped lipstick off his face, gripped one fist in the other hand as if to lend himself resolve and opened his mouth to speak. Rally cut him off.

"Proud of yourself? Trying to worm in through a woman's weak spot so you can hide from the police on her nickel? You know she'd lose her job if anyone found out! God, what a mercenary you are."

Bean's expression closed as tightly as his fists. "I think I was just leavin'," he replied with a sneer. He picked his armored jacket up off the floor where it lay, shook it out and put it on.

"So leave. You got what you came for, I guess, or at least most of it. Get the hell out of here before you ruin EVERYBODY'S life! Why did you decide to show up here anyway? Looking for free booze and random tail? Hoping to make Larry wet his pants in public?"

Bean bumped the door with his shoulder to force it open, hands hidden in his jacket pockets and the sneer frozen on his face. She followed and jogged through the parking lot after him, still on a rant. Cold night air hit her in the face.

"You are such a monumental jerk! What did that prove anyway, that you're scarier than he is? He's seen a hell of a lot worse than stupid ol' YOU! And he's a thousand times more of a man than—"

"Save it, babe." He half-turned his head to throw her a wicked snarl and clattered down some steps to the sidewalk. "I know the score. You like that kid just fine, and he's sure got a heavy case for ya. An' a good-lookin' puss and a straight business and family up to his ass. Whatcha waitin' for?"

Bean disappeared around the corner of the building. Rally turned it a few seconds later, but he was already fifty yards down the street.

"Wait!" She shed her heels, ran three-quarters of a block barefoot and skidded to a stop on the pavement; Bean strode for his car.

"What the hell you want?" He dug for his keys as he stood by the midnight-blue Corvette, an ugly blackish green in the streetlight's yellow glare. Pain creased his face, but she didn't care. He deserved every bit of pain he could feel.

"I'm not finished! How dare you assume—how dare you think you know _anything_ about me? Or Larry either? Bean…" She stopped, panting with anger and upset and something else that disturbed her even more. "…I told him I didn't love him."

"Yeah?" His tone said he didn't think that was much of a consideration.

"He asked me to stay in San Francisco, and you might be right about one thing. If I hadn't interrupted him, I think he was going to ask me to marry him."

The ache in Bean's expression increased to agony for a fleeting moment and he flung open his driver's door.

"Hey! I'm trying to tell you something!"

"It's a damn good offer, babe," he said with a caustic snap. "Better get back there and kiss him some more before he changes his mind!"

"No, I'm not going to. I think he already realizes my answer is no. It's going to stay no, because although I think he could make some woman a really good husband, she's not going to be me. I'm going back to Chicago and I'm going to be a bounty hunter and I don't love him even though if I'd met him at almost any other time in my life it's possible I could have loved him." Rally looked down at the sidewalk, her eyes stinging. "He deserves that. I let him kiss me because of that, OK? And why the hell this is any of your business I don't know, you…you idiot, because this is all YOUR fault, but I've told you. There."

She stood a moment, breathing hard, and turned to walk away.

"_My_ fault? What the hell you mean?" He came right up behind her with a couple of long strides. Hands landed on her shoulders, pulling her around. "Rally? You wouldn't say yes 'cause of me?" Some kind of incredulous hope in his face—she was horrified she had let so much slip, but could not restrain herself any longer.

"Do the math, Bean!" She burst out in the furious, wretched tears she had been holding back for hours and struck his hands away. "You…you've ruined any chance I ever had of a nice, normal life, you know that? I turned down the sweetest, smartest, cutest guy I've ever met, because I'd already cast my pearls before swine and didn't save anything for anyone else. I couldn't give him something I already lost…or gave away for free. I'm just a moron, I guess. Must be catching!"

"Gave it to me for free?" His mouth contorted and he took a step backwards. "That's why you wouldn't marry the guy? 'Cause you couldn't give him…something…you already lost?"

"That's exactly what I just said! Get a CLUE!"

"No—no, wait a minute—R-Rally, quit crying, sweetheart—you know I've been tryin' to pay that off somehow the whole damn time I've—"

"Pay it off? How the hell do you think you can _pay me off?_ Don't you know what I m-m-mean?" She jammed her hands to her mouth and sobbed. Why wouldn't he say the words so she didn't have to? Had he really never felt like that about her at all?

"'Course I do!" His voice sounded like a rusty chainsaw. "I shoulda got the hell out while I still could, but I didn't. Guess that does make it my fault." Bean ground his teeth while she wept from the depths of her broken heart. "Stop crying, dammit. I'm tellin' you, Vincent, stop it before I—" He covered his ears and bent double. "That's how I got in this mess in the first place! Couldn't walk away from a cryin' woman!"

She gulped and sniffled to a halt, her face wet and mascara smearing on her fingers. "All right. Fine. I've stopped."

Bean leaned on the roof of his car with his head hanging low, cleared his throat with a painful sound and tried to shove his hair out of his face. All emotion seemed to drain out of her with her tears; her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes for a moment. Weariness overwhelmed her. Bed, now, and probably a ferocious hangover to look forward to in the morning. She couldn't remember ever having drunk so much in one evening, though now she felt more sodden than blasted. She would definitely have to get May to drive the Cobra home.

"It's all right, Bean. I should never have expected you to ask me anything more than to run off to a hotel and go all night. I mean, I should be used to that by now, shouldn't I?"

He looked up, brows knotted. "Ask you what?"

"It doesn't matter. I…I'm just a woman, that's all. I might pack a gun and drive a fast car and make a living taking crooks to jail, but I've still got a few things in common with the average girl. Silly ideas, maybe." She badly needed to blow her nose and wash her face, so she headed back to her abandoned shoes.

"What ideas, baby?" He spoke as gently as he probably could manage, but it still came out as a hoarse croak. "Tell me, huh? I'm listenin'."

"I don't think I can right now. I don't trust myself." Heels squeezed on to swollen feet again, she wobbled upright. "I've drunk way too much, I'm at the bottom of the tank with nothing left on the gauge, and…and if you said or did the wrong thing just one more time tonight, I think the camel's back would break." She turned away. "Good night, Bean."

Bean didn't reply. Rally allowed her eyes to return to him for a moment as she stumbled back towards the corner.

He stood stone-still, staring at the ground. Like day following night, a faint hopeful light chased blank misery from his face, and then succumbed to darkness again.


	28. Chapter 28

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty-Eight**

"Aw, shit…somebody pick up that damn phone!" Rally pulled a pillow over her head to muffle the horrible clanging noise in her ears. Mouth like a busted sand barrel, head like a Yugo: creaking and shaking, spinning out at the gentlest turn and weighing about a thousand pounds.

"Oh, please. Stop it. I'll do anything!" She fumbled for the handset and dragged it under the pillow. "Oh, um, hi—" She coughed and cleared her clogged throat. "This is Rally."

"Uh-oh. I told him I'd be waking you up. How are you feeling?"

"Vanessa?" Rally sat up, regretted it, and lay back down. "Good, um, morning. Oh, crap…"

"Maybe you'd better go drink some water, sis. Sounds like you should wash down a couple of Tylenols too."

"Yeah, yeah…when I can walk. You told who something? Larry?"

"He'd really like to see you before you go. I know you said you were leaving this morning, but the front desk keeps saying you haven't checked out yet, and since it's ten already—"

"It is? Oh, geez. There goes the early start…ow." Rally rolled upright with great care and immediately stuck her head between her knees.

"Can you meet him for brunch? He'll pick you up if you don't feel like driving."

"Oh, God, food? I don't know…"

"Rally, will you please just talk to him for a few minutes? He needs to hear it from you." Vanessa sighed. "You know what I mean. I've been trying to prepare him since about seven A.M, but I don't think he's going to believe his own sister on a question like this one."

"Ohhh, God…all right. I get you, sis. Yes, of course he does." She smacked her lips and tried to moisten her tongue. "Oh, yuck. I'll feel better when I've showered, OK? Just tell me where he wants to meet."

She took down the address, vigorously brushed her teeth, drank six glasses of water, washed up, quickly fixed her hair and threw open the closet to select an outfit. Not too casual since she was eating out, not too fancy—after all, it was Monday morning. Above all, not too sexy. What on earth did you wear to tell a guy you didn't want to marry him?

Finally she put on hose, her usual lace-up leather walking shoes, a tailored pair of Bermuda shorts that reached to just above the knee and a white knit top with little crocheted lace insets at the not-too-low-scoop neck. She got out her beautiful new CZ75, combat-loaded it and holstered the gun and the two extra magazines under a cute embroidered jacket she'd gotten as a gift. After dressing, she knocked on May's door to tell her where she was going and to start packing, because she intended to get on the road by noon.

Driving to the restaurant, she ran over what she was going to say. As long as she stuck to message or light conversation, everything should go as well as any conversation like this could go. Larry would take no for an answer and not make a scene. Every word of his near-proposal seemed to be printed on her brain, but she remained clear and firm on her main point. 'You're a nice guy, but…'

Not so clear in her mind was what had happened after Bean had broken things up and taken over the party single-handed. That was when she had started to drink in earnest. Rally groaned and inspected her tongue in the rear-view mirror, checking for fur. So he'd been working on driving her up a tree—what else was new? Even a straightforward, street-smart woman like Sue Wojohowicz had discovered that Bean Bandit packed too powerful an engine under his hood for her to handle. Rally wondered what that implied about her own relationship with him.

'But I like the not-so-nice guy better, because even aside from the sheer helpless animal chemistry factor, to be perfectly frank I'm not that nice myself and your otherwise potentially sterling career in the FBI might suffer if you had a a firearms nut who engages in only debatably law-abiding bounty hunting activities for a wife; and your parents and siblings, even though they are as nice as you are and seem to like me very much, are sure to pressure me to have multiple offspring and get the guns and ammo out of the house, for heaven's sake; and constantly shake their heads over my association with a cat burglar, a shady information broker and an ex-prostitute with a bomb fetish who happen to be my best friends in the world.'

So why had she ever had the illusion that a nice, normal life was even possible for her? Or that she had ever truly wanted one? It didn't take an attachment to Bean Bandit to figure that out…

Hadn't she chased him down the sidewalk? Called him names…and then told him, more or less directly, that she loved him too much to marry another man?

So much for not weakening. Rally's tires screeched as she hit the brakes for a red light she hadn't seen coming. She put her hand over her mouth and searched through ragged bits of memory.

She'd been drunk out of her skull. Angry, dead tired, running on fumes…she might have said anything. Imagined anything. She and Wojohowicz had definitely fooled around in the bathroom at some point, but at least she hadn't gone to bed with Bean. Rally's eyes went wide. Well, she was pretty sure she hadn't, because if she had let him into her hotel room, he would have stayed right there with her all night.

He'd asked, though, hadn't he? Rally trembled. Had he ever. No matter what else had dissolved in alcohol last night, no matter what she'd thought or said about it, there was no way she could have forgotten how Bean had cradled her in his arms, warmed her to the bone and whispered her name in a hoarse, sensual rasp.

Poor Larry. She spotted him waiting in front of the restaurant, gave him a cheery wave and looked for a parking space.

* * *

"So how'd it go?" May looked up from her packing with a tentative grin.

"We had a nice talk." Rally sighed, shut the door and leaned against it. "He's such a sweet guy…"

"But you told him."

"Yes, I told him." Rally advanced into May's room, tossed her purse on the bed and threw her jacket on top of it. "He didn't seem surprised, really. Or angry. He just nodded and looked sad, and he even gave me a present."

"Oh, golly. Guilt trip, huh?"

"No, not at all. He handed it to me right as we were leaving. It was like he didn't want to see me open it. So I stuck it in my purse and went by the Federal Building on the way back. Both Smith and Wojohowicz called in sick this morning." She rolled her eyes. "But Agent Furillo cleared me to use the shooting range for a little while."

"Sighting in the new gun? I hope that cheered you up."

"Yes, I'd have to say it did. Oh, it's a beautiful thing." Rally drew it just to admire it, the steel shimmering in the sunlight reflected through the sliding glass doors. "The levers are just the right length and it feels so stable in my grip. I was putting them all into one half-inch hole at twenty-five yards. Did my heart good." Her eyes widened as she cradled the gun. "Darn, that looks like a little scrape there on the slide. My poor baby!" She breathed on the tiny flaw and rubbed it with a tissue. "Mama will make it all better! Oh good, it was just a smudge."

"So are you going to look at Larry's present?"

"I don't know. Maybe later." Fingerprints buffed away, the CZ75 went back in the holster and she took off the harness to hang it up in May's closet. "I'll help you finish packing, and then you can help me with the Mount Everest of cute outfits and home décor. It's a jungle in there."

"What are you afraid it's going to be, Rally?"

"Best case scenario? More jade jewelry."

"You've got shoeboxes full already."

"Uh-huh. He must know that…oh well. More stock for the thrift store!"

"What's the worst case scenario? Maybe he couldn't return the engagement ring except for store credit?"

"You look straight into my nightmares, don't you?" Rally retrieved her purse and took out the little white box. "Here it is. I guess I'd better get it over with." She tore off the ribbon and opened the lid. "Huh?"

"Ooh, lemme see!" May jumped up to look. "Huh?" she echoed.

Rally took out a folded bandanna, creased and smelling of cigarette smoke. "Larry gave me…Bean's bandanna?"

"Where would he have gotten that?"

"Uh…Bean gave it to him, as a matter of fact. What's in here?" She felt something small and hard inside the cloth. Rally unwrapped the bandanna, making many turns to disengage it from the contents. It wasn't one small hard item—it was two. She tipped them into her palm.

In the sunlight, a flash of darkest blue. "What the HELL?" It was the sapphire earrings, the ones Brown had given her and that she had refused to keep. There could not be two such sets of matched jewels in the world!

"Wow!" May's eyes opened wide.

"Holy shit. How did Larry get hold of—no, wait." Rally sat down hard, still holding the earrings. "Bean. Bean gave them to Larry to give to me. Oh, my God."

"All right!" May looked overjoyed. "You finally got them back!"

"I can't keep these! I have to turn them in to—"

"Who? The FBI? Is that who they belong to?"

"I…don't really know." Rally looked down at the earrings. "Brown bought them for me, and then I gave them right back to him. So they're NOT mine! I wouldn't keep a gold mine if Sly Brown gave it to me."

"He didn't! Tiffany had the earrings when we were being held together—she was playing with them for toys. She told me she gave them to Manichetti, and Manny must have given them to Bean…for some reason. And then Bean—"

"No! Ugh! Why did he have to do that? I'm going to kill him!"

"What's so terrible about having something that looks like it was made for you? Why shouldn't he pass them on to the rightful owner?"

"I guess he's not the sapphire type! Sheesh." Rally held the sapphires glowing in her hand, warming from her body heat. "Oh, hell..."

"You like them, don't you?"

"I would have to be crazy not to like them." Rally swallowed hard, unable to put the earrings down or hide them again in the box. "These are some of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. That does not mean that they belong to me."

"Keep them, Rally." May took her hand and folded her fingers over the earrings. "You don't have to wear them if you don't want to. Just look at them sometimes and remember who really gave them to you. And why he did it."

"I don't know why he did it."

"Of course you do. Those are _valuable_. Worth a lot. He got hold of them. And he wrapped them up in an old bandanna and tried to get Larry to take credit for them. Which Larry didn't do, to HIS credit—though he might have figured you'd know the truth anyway."

"Yeah, yeah…" Rally put the earrings in her purse protected by a tissue. The bandanna she wadded up in her hand, and when May wasn't looking, she took a quick sniff. Smoke, leather. And his own scent, which sent twinges through her thighs and between them. Rally noted her heart rate and the feeling in the core of her stomach. She carefully folded the bandanna and put it in an inside pocket of her jacket, over her left breast.

* * *

When May's packing was almost done, Rally went to her room, pulled out the drawers of her dresser and emptied their contents on her bed in preparation for dealing with her heaps of gifts. Her suitcase wouldn't hold much more than what she had brought with her. May had no space to spare, since she had filled all her bags with souvenirs and baby things. Maybe she was going to have to buy a bunch of cheap duffel bags, or just haul a lot of it out to a mailing store and have it shipped home. At this rate, they wouldn't get on the road until midafternoon. She picked up stacks of folded clothes and dropped them into her suitcase.

On top of one pile lay a flattened roll of paper. Rally picked it up to throw away. It unrolled a little way in her hand, and she got a glimpse of piercing eyes shadowed by black hair. It was the mug shot she had helped the artist put together, weeks ago. Since it hadn't been needed after all, she had almost forgotten she had a copy hidden in her dresser. Carefully she unrolled it all the way, smoothing out the creases, and held it flat on the bedspread.

A version of Bean stared up at her, frowning slightly.

Roy had been right about this picture. It was obviously Bean in every important detail, but it was too idealized, too smooth. Of course it was only a drawing, an unshaded outline with simplified features. The hair was flat black, the face flat white, the eyes angled ovals with circles for the irises. Even the scar over the nose looked like a symbol rather than a mark on the face of a real man. She saw nothing of the nuances of skin texture, the tiny flaws and irregularities and surprising beauties that made Bean far more than a collection of lines on paper.

If anyone had only this picture to go on, what impression would come through? It might be hard to imagine that there were contradictions in him that an immobile drawing could not show. That his long, hard angles could change and even soften, that his sharp eyes could turn warm if not exactly tender. Never having heard his voice, smelled his sweat, felt the touch of his hands: without these essentials no one could really know what he looked like.

And even now, knowing what he had been was no clue to what he would be one day. Like a vague map of an unknown road that led to new lands. Rally rolled the picture up again and put it in a corner of her suitcase.

May knocked and came in. "Hey! What can I do?"

"Well, I don't have a quarter of the space I'm going to need." She swept the cluttered room with a gesture. "I think I need to run out for something to hold it all."

"Okay, then you can come with us."

"Who's us?"

"Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I'm going to Union Square and the Galleria with Roy and his wife. She called while you were gone, and we made arrangements. They're heading over here now."

"A shopping trip? We're supposed to leave sometime this century, remember? Your mall-crawls are never under three hours!"

"Come on, Ral! You didn't get to go with me while you were in the hospital, and then you were either feeling tired or the FBI monopolized you for hours every day. Mrs. Coleman wants to hit the San Francisco stores because their plane doesn't leave until seven, Roy won't let her go unless he's there to hold on to the credit cards, and I promised to act as tour guide. Don't you want to have fun blowing some cash?" May waggled her hips.

"Not really, no. Anyway, what cash? When I get back home, I'm going to be flat broke!"

"Well, I have to get some clothes for Southern California, and some more souvenirs of Frisco for Misty, and there was the cutest little baby boutique in Union Square that I didn't get to go in yet, and—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture. Have a blast. I guess we can leave at dinnertime and drive all night!" She waved bye-bye at May. "Oh, get me three big duffel bags if you see a camping store or a surplus outlet. I'll fit all this dreck in the back seat somehow."

"Ral-ly! You have to come with us! I wanted to show you—"

She groaned. "I am NOT in the mood, OK? If we're not leaving, I'd rather go for a drive. All I am going to buy is gas, and maybe something to eat. If you want to take a day trip, I am your girl. But I am not going to stay indoors any longer. I'll suffocate."

"All right, whatever. At least come say goodbye to Roy. We're all going to have to ride in the wheelchair van if you're not coming."

"Of course I will!" She went downstairs to the lobby with May, where the Colemans had just arrived. Mrs. Coleman wanted to plot the expedition with the aid of a hotel shopping guide, so May consulted with her while Rally accompanied Roy through the lobby.

"Well, I won't see you again until you get home." Roy offered his hand when they got to the revolving glass doors. His wife went through with May, chattering gaily about Nordstrom's. "Have a good trip, kid."

"Thanks, Roy." She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "You have a good trip too."

"If I get enough little bottles of moonshine in first class, I'll be dandy." He touched her shoulder and pressed her forehead to his for a moment. "Thanks, Irene. It's been hell on wheels, but at least we were with our friends."

"You got it." She straightened up and smiled at him. "That's what makes it all worthwhile."

"Want to take me out to the van? I may need a hand with this door anyway. I'll get another half a minute with you, at least. And you can help strap me into the lift. My wife swears it's beyond her capabilities."

"Sure thing." She held the door and guided Roy through and out to the top of the steps. The wheelchair ramp snaked around the side of the building and looked a little steep. Rally took hold of both the wheelchair's handles and provided some braking force while Roy steered. At the bottom of the ramp, she let go and dusted off her hands. Roy rolled on ahead of her while she adjusted the lie of her purse and jacket.

Something made her look up; it might have been a sound or a presence in the air. Maybe it was a scent, something like a warm car interior and the essence of a man. On the narrow garden walk that ran along the side of the hotel stood Bean, hands in his pockets and a composed expression on his features. Perhaps a little too composed. Rally sensed coiled tension under his cool façade, and straightened up.

He gave her a casual nod, as if his presence right outside her hotel could have no particular object. "Hey, Vincent."

"Uh…hello, Bean." Oh, no. What _had _she told him last night?

Roy turned around and let out a sound that startled Rally. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Bean touched his forelock, not quite in mockery. "Hey, Detective. Heard you were heading out."

"I don't think I'm the one you're here to send off, Bandit." Roy rolled closer and reached out to grasp Rally's arm.

"You got that right." Bean stuck his tongue into one cheek, hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked unconcerned.

Roy frowned, but Rally realized it was half in concentration, not wholly in anger. He examined Bean's face and stance as if he were trying to recognize someone. A child lost in the wilderness, who had emerged as a man. His mouth worked; he clenched his lips together. On her arm, his hand trembled. For a moment Rally wondered if he was going to cry.

Bean's defensive insouciance changed as he took in Roy's naked emotion. His eyes darted a question at Rally. She threw him an awkward smile and examined the sidewalk near her feet. Not for a million bucks would she give Roy's memories away; he'd never forgive her for that.

"Uh…the painkillers messin' with yer head, Coleman?" Bean made a conciliatory gesture. "You don't look so bad, considerin'."

Roy let out a silent gasp and shook his head with his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm all right. I'm fine."

"You sure about that?" Bean took a step closer. "Coleman, you going to pass out or something? Vincent, get his head down or he's gonna tip that thing over and bust his face on the sidewalk." He grabbed one of the wheelchair's handles to stabilize it. Rally put an arm around Roy's shoulders.

"Roy? Should I call the doctor? I'll get your wife—"

He waved a hand. "No. No. Don't scare her. I'll be OK in a minute." He threw his head back and stared right at Bean, who stood next to him with a puzzled frown.

"Don't think he oughta be going on any long plane rides." Bean spoke to Rally, but glanced down at Roy. "If just lookin' at me makes him want to puke, he's not gonna survive five minutes in one of those damn tin birds."

"Where'd you get that scar?" said Roy suddenly.

"Huh? This one?" Bean pointed at the bridge of his nose. "Well, that's a long story—"

"No, not that one. This one." He grabbed Bean's wrist and pointed at a thin, straight line that ran along the back of his right hand and disappeared up the sleeve of his jacket.

Bean freed himself and stood up straight, his face twitching. "What the hell?"

"Answer him, please." Rally put a hand over her mouth and looked away.

Bean stared at them both as if he had unexpectedly strolled into an insane asylum. He gave a bewildered shrug. "I dunno. Always had it, far as I recollect."

"That's a cut from a loose wire in a chain-link fence." Roy half-smiled. "You got it when you were running away from me in a parking lot—twenty-six years ago next week."

Rally had never seen quite that expression on Bean's face before; his eyes went wide, his jaw sagged, and for a moment he looked both panicky and on the verge of asking a tremendous question. "No. No freakin' way."

"He's right, Bean. You owe Roy a box of fried chicken."

Roy chortled, obviously delighted to see Bean speechless and white-faced, and stuck out his right hand. Bean took it automatically. "Rally's got my number, Bandit. You can pay me back when you get home."

"W-wait a minute, Coleman…"

"Sorry, can't talk now. I've got a couple of ladies to chaperone and a plane to catch. Rally, give me a hand." He spun his wheelchair around and rolled out to the street.

Rally avoided Bean's look and ran after Roy. Quickly she assisted him with the lift while the driver manipulated the controls. With Roy safely stowed and her hand on the sliding door of the van, she muttered a vague goodbye to the Colemans and May and prepared to close it. Roy put out a hand to stop her. His gleeful mood had evaporated, and he swallowed hard before speaking.

"Every one of them was a child once," he said so quietly it was difficult to hear him. "It's damn hard to remember that under some conditions, but every hood, every dealer and rapist and killer I've ever picked up off the streets was a babe in arms once upon a time. It doesn't mean anything, unless it means that every one of them is a human being."

He looked over at her, his eyes shining with tears. May was listening with wide eyes, apparently grasping something of what he meant. "I guess this case-hardened old cop should be grateful that he's probably never going to forget that again."

She couldn't reply, but squeezed his arm in farewell.

"Goodbye, Rally." He gestured for her to close the door. "I'll see you in Chicago." She waved as the van drove away.

Rally waited where she was, cleaning the nails of her right hand with the thumbnail of the left. Bean's footfalls came up behind her and stopped. She turned as slowly as she could manage and looked at him with care.

He'd cleaned up, washed his hair, and combed it back from his face. Instead of his flak jacket and blue denim he wore a charcoal-gray sport coat, open-collar white shirt and black pants. She recognized the jacket—she had bought it for him when his clothes had been ruined in the ambulance. It didn't fit him too badly.

"You're looking sharp, Bean. What's the occasion?"

He shrugged, but his expression had a hint of amused guilt. "Nothing. Everything stinks like smoke or else it's got bullet holes in it."

"Where are you staying, anyway—oh, never mind. I didn't ask that."

Bean smiled. "Want a lift?"

"I wasn't really going anywhere."

"Neither am I. So I guess we're goin' in the same direction." He cocked a brow at her. "Maybe we ought to carpool, seeing as it's California."

Rally laughed uneasily and fiddled with the embroidered flowers on her jacket. "Oh…I'd prefer to drive myself. I just got my Cobra all fixed up and—"

"Want to give my 'Vette a spin?"

Rally's eyes dilated; she salivated at the very thought. She would love to get her hands on the wheel of that little beauty. But—

She swallowed and made a face. "I don't know, Bean."

"You take it out, I'll take it back." He didn't look her straight in the eye, rocking slightly back and forth, heel to toe. "Just a little way if you like, or as far as you want to go."

Could he have proposed anything that could have tempted her more? This was blackmail, and he knew it. Bean indicated a direction with his head.

"I'm parked right down the block. If you wanted to take a look-see or anythin'."

"Um…OK, I'll come take a look at it. You know, just to admire it."

Bean suppressed a smile and moved down the sidewalk. She followed him for a few paces, then spotted the glint of the sidepipes in the shade under a tree and broke into a jog. She beat him to the car by a good five seconds. There it stood with the top off, gleaming dark, with leather seats the color of butterscotch and a bright red flash on the power bulge.

After staring open-mouthed with an urge to fall down and worship at the altar of General Motors, Rally found her voice. "Bean, that is one of the most beautiful cars I have ever seen. It's _gorgeous_. If you aren't very careful, I'm going to shoot you and take it for myself. How much did you pay for it?"

"One hundred twenty large."

"Oh, my God." She walked around the car stooping to examine every detail, her hands hovering just above the jewel-like wax job. Not a speck on the chrome, and the upholstery was immaculate. The thing looked like it had been detailed that morning, and probably it had.

"Aw, I'd have given him the whole damn suitcase if he'd insisted. That dough was kinda burning a hole in my pocket anyway."

"It's a big-block...427," Rally read the engine badge on the power bulge. "What, is it an L-71, or a 72?"

"Nope. Better." Bean dug in his pants pocket and brought out a big steel ring of keys.

"_Better_ than an L-72?" Her face fell slack. "Don't tell me it's a—"

"Yep. It's an L-88."

Rally clapped both hands to her cheeks. "_Holy shit, Bean!"_

He was grinning at her as if he had saved up his genuine smiles for a week. "It's a 1967 L-88 convertible with all the bells and whistles. M22 rock-crusher, Positraction axle, the works. They made twenty of 'em, all told. You want the keys, Rally?" He dangled them on his forefinger with the air of a fisherman testing an exotic lure.

"God, Bean, I could _kiss_ you!"

The light that flashed in his eyes made her take a step backwards. Well, of course that what this was about. But nothing short of an artillery barrage could have kept her from taking him up on the offer, so she grabbed the keys from his hand and unlocked the driver's door.

"You don't mind? You are really going to let me take this eighth wonder of the world out into San Francisco traffic?"

"'Long as you don't mind some passenger-seat drivin'."

"Considering that you are among the few people in the nation who _might_ be able to teach me something about how to handle a car, I promise not to belt you too hard." She tossed her head with a merry laugh at Bean's expression and jumped behind the wheel.

* * *

It was hard to keep from bouncing up and down in the Corvette's driver's seat from pure childish joy. Rally bore down on the accelerator and spun the polished wooden steering wheel through her hands, the wind swirling her hair. One of the previous owners had modified this formidable racing version for street driving, so the car was not as rough a ride as it had been off the line in 1967. But she wouldn't have cared if it jolted her to bruising; it was an L-88!

Bean sat back and watched her drive with a covert grin, fingering his upper lip. He mentioned one or two idiosyncrasies of the brakes and gearbox, but otherwise kept his own counsel.

They made an elegant dark-blue streak through downtown, along the curving avenues of Golden Gate Park and out past the windmills to Ocean Beach. Heads snapped around at every intersection. Even the cops gave them a nod and a wink as they zoomed by, though Bean scrunched down somewhat and casually covered his chin with his hand. The wind off the ocean blew fresh and cool, whipping up bits of foam like cream on the water. Surf rolled and tumbled to their right as they drove down the Great Highway and south.

"So where do you want to go?" She had to shout to be heard over the wind and the aggressive throb of the engine.

Bean shrugged. "Out of the city, anyway. Pick a road."

Rally pointed to her purse, which she had tossed aside, and he pulled out her Northern California guidebook and found a page with a map. This road went up into the hills that formed the spine of the peninsula of which San Francisco was the head, and not too far from here there was a turnoff out to Highway 1 and the coast. She decided to continue in that direction.

Soon they descended a winding highway that offered tantalizing glimpses of a steep valley, ocean coves and sea stacks. Sun glittered on the whitecaps far out to sea. The road was narrow and two-way at this last western reach of the continent, sometimes veering very close to the brink of high cliffs, but Rally raced along with high glee only heightened by a whiff of danger. Once they got through a medium-sized town, there was little traffic. Rally crept up to exhilarating speeds just to hear the engine roar.

What a perfect day for a drive! And in the perfect car. She stole a glance at Bean, who seemed to be watching the scenery. This driver's dream wasn't going to last forever—at the very least, she was eventually going to have to relinquish the wheel to him. So nothing would bother her while they were out on this road, on this glorious afternoon. Absolutely nothing.

* * *

Rally finally pulled over at a state sign overlooking a rocky point and a series of small pebble-strewn beaches. Another sign pointed inland: Pescadero, population 670. A road ran east into a valley filled with marshes. SUVs and minivans were scattered in the rutted dirt lot at the top of the cliff, and a few families and couples waded in the water or looked at tidepools. But the place didn't seem over-populated. The clean breeze, the blue-green expanse of ocean and the warm sun made room for everyone. Fishing birds clustered on the more remote rocks and seals peeked at the sky here and there in the outer surf.

Rally tossed the keys to Bean, got out and stretched, then sat on the top of a picnic table. Bean unfolded himself from the passenger seat and followed her. They lounged in amiable silence for a few minutes while seagulls investigated for signs of handouts.

Should she even start the conversation, and on what subject? Not the earrings. She didn't entirely trust herself where those jewels were concerned, and she meant to turn them in to the government in any case. She decided to mention something else she had wanted to ask about; the urge to tease him wasn't the smallest reason to bring it up, though Bean's new Corvette had brought it to mind soon after she had taken the wheel.

"So, uh, Bean…you remember how we got here? Driving up I-5 from Los Angeles?"

He looked at her with mild surprise. "Kinda hard to forget it, lady."

"Well, of course, but I mean when we crashed…well, I was sorry about your LS-7, but now you've got an L-88, for crying out loud!" Rally took a deep breath. "Bean, did you keep me from rolling over the edge?"

"What?"

"May and I were talking to Manichetti. He said he saw you steer left when I hit you. He claimed you saved my car from rolling, and rolled yours instead. Did you do that?"

He made a noncommittal face. "I dunno. Don't recall doing much thinking right at that moment."

"You mean you did it without thinking?"

"You sure that's what I did?"

"I know my car didn't roll, and that yours did. You lost that car—and you nearly lost your life, too. Did you do that for me?" She pursed her lips, raised her brows and avoided meeting his eye.

"Doubt I figured it that way." He was attempting to suppress a grin. "You trying to claim I saved your life?"

"Well…did you?"

"Kinda seems like braggin', doesn't it?" Bean wore a complacent look and locked his hands over his stomach as he leaned back against the table.

"Oooh, you shithead..." Rally took a swat at him and he dodged, laughing. "Admit it!"

"Well, if you press me, I guess I have to." He rubbed his chin with a thumb and looked at her sideways with a smile. "Figured I could take it, but a little gal like you..."

Rally stuck out her tongue at him, and he laughed again.

She jumped off the table and jogged over to a rail fence right at the crumbling cliff edge. Where the fence ended, a badly eroded path led down to the beach and the rocks. Most of the soil in the steps had washed right out from the railroad ties reinforcing them. The footing looked more than a little uncertain…but then, families with small kids had made it down there already. It couldn't be that hard to negotiate.

Rally climbed up the fence and sat on the top rail to survey the beach. Waves rolled in with their endless tumbling rhythm and sloshed pebbles and seaweed back and forth in the clear jade-green water near the shore. Bigger surf broke on the outer rocks, sometimes sending up high white fountains of spray. She wondered if the tide was out or in, and decided it was probably out since she could see children far out on the rocks flanking the point.

"So how's ol' Coleman?" Bean strolled up and leaned on the fence. "I guess he's gonna live, anyhow."

"He had some surgery, and he's due for more when he gets home. But he's not permanently stuck in that wheelchair. He'll be back to work by next year."

He looked down at the thin scar on his right hand and worked his jaw. "Rally, you want to tell me what he was talking about? Twenty-six years ago…?"

"You know what, Bean? I'm going to let him fill you in on that one. I don't think it's my place." She gave him a smile.

Looking out to sea, he nodded in acknowledgment. "Guess he'll get some dough for his pains, anyway. The blue boys take care of their own."

"He already got a check for five thousand dollars from a relief fund. But he didn't keep it."

"What?" Bean looked disbelieving, and she told him what Roy had done at the banquet.

"Five thou? That ain't an amount he can sneeze at."

"Not at all. But he gave it to the people who needed it most, he said. I think that was…just wonderful of him." She hugged her shoulders and scanned the sky. "Gosh, it's a gorgeous day. I was hoping I'd get to the beach when it wasn't foggy."

"So what would you do with a chunk of cash like that?"

"A windfall? Well, that would depend on where it came from! Smith says I'm due for a finder's fee on that Dragon treasure, and I hope he's right. I could use it."

Bean meditatively stuck out his lower lip. "And you were gonna give that quarter mil to the Feds, since it was drug money."

"Yeah, that's just what I did with it. Put it right on Smith's desk. Thanks for paying that back, by the way."

He shook his head. "I owed it to ya. I don't need any thanks for doin' what I agreed to do in the first place."

"All right, if that's how you want it." She wondered what his point was, but decided not to bring up the twelve million-odd dollars of missing cash—that might only start an argument, and she couldn't bear to spoil the weather. Maybe later she'd broach the subject, but not now. Bean headed over to the path and descended, walking sideways in some spots where the path was almost nonexistent. Rally followed him down to the beach and out to the surf in the inlet closest to the shore. Bending over, Bean picked up pebbles from the sand. He tossed most of them away while selecting a few.

"What are you doing?"

Bean stood up with a handful. "Count 'em for me." He hefted one stone, waited for a lull in the surf and skimmed it out over the water with a deft flick of the wrist. It skipped five times before it sank. He looked at her with a smile.

"Well…I guess that's not bad." Rally looked around for suitable stones. "Here's a nice flat one—bet I can do better!" They alternated rock-hunting and skipping for a while, keeping score. Bean won, but only by two skips. Rally gave him a round of applause and on a wicked impulse dumped a handful of sand on his head when he let his guard down for a moment. He raked it out of his hair and gave her the evil eye.

Looking around for a refuge, she backed away and ran for a little cove farther out towards the ocean. She scrambled across rocks surrounded by water, climbed a few boulders, jumped down a small cliff and almost stepped on a basking seal. It looked at her with reproof in its large brown eyes and hunched down to the surf.

Bean appeared at the top of the cliff; she watched the seal swim out to sea, enchanted with its graceful dives and the cute whiskers on its face. He looked at it with some degree of interest when she pointed out the bobbing head. The tide seemed to be coming in; they had better go back across the rocks before they got their feet soaked. She really wasn't dressed for the beach, or she might have gone wading. Bean gave her a hand to help her up the cliff, but slipped a fistful of cold wet sand down her neck before she realized what he was doing. Rally yelped and clawed at her dampened shirt.

"All right, turnabout is fair, but that's enough. No more sand in my clothes! Ugh!"

He laughed with heartless triumph, but his face changed when she pulled out her shirttails and popped a button off the waistband of her shorts.

"Darn it." She found the button, which luckily was the inside one, and stuck it in her pocket. "I'll have to remember to ask May if she can fix that." Rally scooped sand out of her waistband and yanked on the tops of her bra cups through her shirt to dislodge the last particles. While tucking her T-shirt back in, she caught Bean's eye.

Hands jammed down the back of her shorts and the dark circles of her tense nipples half-showing through the stretched wet fabric of her shirt, she stopped short and turned red. Bean was looking at her the way he had looked at her in the motel the first night they had spent together. No, not quite the same way, because this time her clothing mishaps were not premeditated, and this time, they already had some idea what it felt like to sleep with each other. Rally dropped her hands and stood up straight.

They stayed gaze-locked for what seemed like minutes, neither of them moving. The human passion in every line of Bean's face and body struck her with far greater effect than the manufactured beauty of a car. A man, a member of her own species, a partner and not a tool. He was not subject to her in any way except exactly as she was subject to him; they had to deal with each other as equals or not at all. Confused desire hit her with a shock like a high cold wave. So much had changed since that night, but the attraction between them had only gained focus and power.

Oh God, he knew exactly what she was thinking right now, didn't he? She felt as transparent as water.

Bean looked almost as agitated as she felt. He turned his back on her and stalked away, hands tenting out his pants pockets. After a few moments Rally followed and picked her way over the rocks to the shore. A surge of the incoming surf rose a little too high for comfort, and she jumped to dry land not quite in time to avoid a splash of salt water on her shoes. Bean headed towards the path, walking rapidly with his head down.

She felt piqued and disappointed; this hadn't been her fault and Bean's sulk threatened to cloud her perfect blue sky. If he wanted to brood about his physical urges, that was his problem, but why didn't he just come right out and say what he had to say?

OK, then what about her? Rally flushed. Could she put it all into a few pithy sentences right now? Wouldn't she at least need some time to think it over? Maybe she wouldn't want to say anything until she knew more about what he had in mind, or what he really wanted from her. Bean surely felt the same, but even more so. They were probably at an impasse.

Fine, then. She'd rather nothing was said at all, if it came right down to it, and she could certainly outlast him in a test of wills! The remnants of desire still trickled through her body, disturbing that theory, but she tried to ignore them.

Two men appeared at the top of the cliff and headed for the precarious steps. Bean glanced up and halted near the base of the cliff to let them go down before he went up. Rally approached him, but stood off a little way. In order not to look at him, she looked at the men coming down the path. Her eyes narrowed.

Dressed a little formally for the beach—all right, so were she and Bean. They didn't match each other in the way friends or business associates might. The first man was balding, with a nondescript face and a round Slavic skull. His shapeless business suit looked like it had seen plenty of travel, but he moved with economical precision. The tall, gangly second man, who worked his way down the higher steps with some awkwardness, wore an unbuttoned lightweight jacket with the sleeves rolled up over tanned forearms. His highlighted dark-blonde hair had just the right amount of wave. He didn't otherwise resemble Sly Brown, but surely it was his Southern California playboy air that had given her that deep little shiver.

Bean slowly walked away from the lower end of the path, more or less sideways. Rally looked at his face in profile; something about the two men had given him an alarm as well, though apparently not one that required immediate action. His eyes weren't on the playboy, however. The Russian had reached the sand and stood waiting for his companion.

The playboy jumped off the last and highest step to the shelving ground below. His foot skidded and his jacket flapped out. Bean spotted the swinging holster at the same instant she did. He didn't look at her, but he moved further backwards and to her left, flanking the two men. One hand went to the small of his back, under his jacket.

Conceivably they could be cops or federal agents; drawing on them first would be a serious mistake if that were true. Rally moved to the right and shrugged her left shoulder, adjusting the new holster slightly forward. Or they might be dealers or gangsters, planning to talk on the shore with the sound of the waves to drown out the details for bystanders. This beach wasn't wide—she reached the surf line in only a few steps and could go no farther without swimming.

She caught Bean's eye from thirty yards distance. His thoughts were obviously tending the same way, though with more reason to avoid law enforcement and less reason to interfere with criminal activity. He pointed his chin at the path and skirted the base of the cliff. Rally circled around the men to meet him there. They nodded pleasantly at her and the playboy gave her an appreciative scan up and down through his expensive mirrored sunglasses. Head tilted back, the Russian examined the featureless sky.

If they were up to something they shouldn't be, she wasn't in a good position to figure out what it was or to do anything about it. Perhaps when they got back in the car, she would give Smith a call. He might know these guys, and if he didn't, he might appreciate the tip. Rally put her foot on the high step just as Bean came up to the base of the path. A touch on her elbow—Bean was offering her a hand up.

"Please come with us for a short walk," said a neutral voice with an accent. "You, Miss Vincent, and Mr. Bandit. We'd appreciate it if you did not make any sudden moves."

That was the voice of someone who wasn't particularly worried about trouble. But not because all he had in mind was conversation. She knew without looking around that both the hitmen had silently drawn and aimed. The smallest twitch towards her gun would probably finish both her and Bean.

Fingers dug into her arm. Rally saw Bean's jaw set and his face go cold. His eyes darted to her and then over his shoulder at the men. It was a familiar look. Once before, he had calculated his odds of holding off assailants while she escaped.

"No." She said only the one quiet word to him, but knew he understood. Bean let go of her. Taking her foot off the step, she stood upright and waited.

"You may turn around," said the neutral voice. It had to be the Russian—that was definitely an Eastern European accent. "Don't raise your hands or make any other signal."

They turned around. Rally identified a Glock in the Russian's hand. The other man held a cheap Colt revolver. So they meant to ditch their guns after the hit if necessary. Level-headed, veteran professionals—no vanity about their tools. Who the hell had hired them?

"There's kids around here," said Bean. "You gonna do it with kids watching?"

"If you're concerned about the onlookers, don't create a disturbance that witnesses will notice." The Russian made a slight backwards nod, and he and the playboy moved to the sides just as Bean and Rally had done. Both of them were wearing body armor.

"Walk towards the end of the point, please. We'll go as far out toward the ocean as possible. Hold your hands out away from your bodies and keep your fingers extended."

The hitmen pivoted to keep their guns aimed as Bean and Rally obeyed, and followed them five yards behind, well out of reach. They hadn't even asked for their weapons: too careful to risk letting Bean get his hand on a knife or Rally hers on a gun, and too confident to worry about any sudden moves.

If she thought about it, she could see that there were few better places for a job like this one than a rocky beach. Once they got well out from the shore and into the chasms and tiny coves, no one would be able to tell they were there from more a few yards away. The roar of the breaking surf would cover most noises, and as for disposal of bodies and evidence, there was the Pacific Ocean right in front of them. They might not be found for weeks. If at all.

Rally mulled all this over with a light, calm feeling in her head. Her breathing was slow and full, her heart beating at an ordinary rate. She still had her gun, Bean still had whatever knives he carried in civilian dress. Certainly the hitmen were prepared for that, but as long as she was armed, she hadn't lost. Stealing a glance at Bean, she saw that his face was relaxed and his stride easy. There was no point in sabotaging yourself before you even got started.

"Can I ask a question?" she said.

"Sure," said the Southern California playboy, with a jaunty lilt in his voice. "I'm not going to promise to answer, but go ahead and ask." Their feet crunched in the sand and pebbles.

"Who's paying you?"

"Oh, we're on retainer." He laughed.

"Retainer? You're not Dragons."

"Oh, hell no. The man who pays us is Sylvester Brown."

She heard an irritated sigh from the Russian.

"Vlad, I'm only making conversation. Don't get your panties in a twist, OK?"

"All right," said Vlad.

"Brown's dead," said Bean. "Never heard of a dead man payin' a salary." He jumped down a four-foot drop and held out a hand to assist Rally. The hitmen took the drop one by one, each man covering for the other.

"Well, sure he's dead. We wouldn't be here if Sly wasn't dead."

"Excuse me?" said Rally.

"You ever heard of a deadman's clause? That's what just kicked in, honey. If he happened to die up in Frisco, you two were going to pay the price. It was arranged weeks ago, just in case. His lawyer got us on the horn Thursday."

Manichetti had described this to her, hadn't he? Six or eight ways of dealing with the opposition, a bundle of irons in every fire. Sly Brown's last loophole. His last simple, sneaky, vicious little trap, and he was laughing his ass off in hell with O'Toole grinning beside him. She really didn't want to go to any place that would take Tom O'Toole as a permanent resident.

"So you got the news only a few days ago."

"Naturally. We didn't know he wasn't on the lam somewhere until Manny spilled to the Feds."

"Doesn't he come in for some of this price-paying, considering he's the one who actually killed Brown?" Rally climbed down rough rocks, Bean picking his way just below her.

"Manny? No. The Feds have him, and Sly didn't say a word about him anyway. Just you two."

"Never would have thought it of his driver. I know." Rally's mind riffled through alternatives, examining and discarding them with lightning speed. "So some money's due to you when you finish the last job for Brown? What happens after that?"

"We get new jobs, honey. Matter of fact, with you two on our résumés, I bet those could be some very nice jobs. Vlad, you'd like to work in Florida, maybe? I'm going to try for the Big Apple."

"Yes, I will probably apply for jobs in Florida," said Vlad. "Miami. I spent a pleasant week in Miami once."

"Does he sound like he actually had fun, honey? Listen to him. His dog dies, he wins the lottery, and it's all the same tone of voice."

Proceeding slowly, they crossed potholed, slippery rocks interspersed with tidepools of all sizes. Purple sea urchins, orange starfish, lime-green sea anemones and deep green seaweed: the weathered blues and pearly silvers of the mussels which clustered over the rocks in thick profusion. Every color was vivid and beautiful under the sun, and tiny fish and bright little crabs darted into the shadows as they passed. A family with small boys in tow peered into the pools some distance away, not looking up at the little procession.

"How much are you going to be paid for this job?" Rally raised her brows at Bean, who stared back for a moment.

"Well, not all that much, I guess. But like I say, we were on retainer, because it wasn't like he needed us 24/7. Just whenever he happened to call. And with Brown, a lot of the compensation was in the perks. So no, he didn't pay a whole lot. Compared to some."

"Not a whole lot? That's too bad. Uh…"

Nothing from Bean. Hey, Mr. Twelve Million Bucks of Drug Money? Weren't their lives worth some ill-gotten cash paid out in bribes to underpaid, unemployed hitmen? She wondered how to suggest the idea to him again. He couldn't be that much of a miser…or could he? Was that going to be his epitaph, not to mention hers?

They went up a rise and stopped side by side at the top of a ten-foot drop. No farther to go. The hitmen still hung back by fifteen feet. Rally looked down. Below her, sea palms tossed and thrashed in the white surf. Way out here the water was probably at least fifty or sixty feet deep, and the end of this point was almost completely open to the ocean. With a crashing roar, a large wave broke on the lone rock that sat farther out to sea and drifted spray over them. Birds lifted and glided on the breeze.

"So how is this going to happen? You don't want my purse or anything?" Rally stared at the horizon. "Jewelry?" If someone later recognized those sapphires, just maybe…

"No, I will leave your possessions intact," said Vlad. He reached into a pocket and took out a heavy sap. No wonder his suit looked a little saggy. "It will appear that you were both swept into the ocean, battered against the rocks and drowned. The waves are unpredictable all along the coast. So this kind of unfortunate accident happens to tourists and even unwary locals with reasonable frequency."

"I'll bet it does." No wonder their weapons hadn't been taken; talk about a red flag to murder if the bodies of Rally Vincent and Bean Bandit washed up unarmed! Another big wave hit the farther rocks, forcing Rally to blink the salt out of her eyes.

"They're moving off," said the playboy, apparently referring to the family back among the tidepools. "Probably going to eat their lunch now. Looks like they'll be out of sight in a few minutes."

Was there any faint hope of simply drawing and shooting? Both hitmen still had the drop on them, and these guys were the opposite of amateurs. That was a fool's way out. There had to be something better. But what?

"Bean…"

He slightly turned his head.

"Bean, uh, there's something I'd like to say to you."

"OK."

"I mean, just to you." She addressed the hitmen. "Uh, would you mind? I'd really rather not have people listening."

"Honey," said the playboy, "I'm afraid you're going to have to put up with us. Just for a couple of minutes more, I promise."

She flushed, wishing she could reach for Bean's hand. Wishing she could turn to him, put her arms around him, hear the beat of his heart. Once more. Starting to get shaky—had she really given up with her gun still nestled under her arm? At least she and Bean were together, which was only half of a comforting thought.

"I, um…I regret some things I've done, Bean. Or not done, I guess. Sometimes those are the worst, I think."

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted you to know—I mean, it's not like it's a lightning bolt from the blue for me or anything, I pretty much knew it a while ago, though what Larry says about how it made him feel when he realized it, I mean in his case, of course—well, that wasn't exactly my reaction and sometimes I'm not sure why—"

"You're going to have to put it a bit plainer than that, honey, not to mention more briefly. I don't think you're going to get around to the actual point at this rate." The playboy chuckled; he had probably heard a lot of confessions on the point of death.

"Oh, God—Bean, please, isn't there anything you wish you'd done differently? Haven't you ever felt that way?"

"Sure."

"Well, um, could you tell me?"

"OK," said Bean. "I wish I'd taken a different car today."

Rally's mouth dropped open. That was the greatest regret of his life? "You wish you hadn't taken the 'Vette? What, you're worried about the salt air on the chrome? You cold-blooded son of a—"

"The people have gone up to the beach," said Vlad. "No one's in sight."

"Aw, some punk's gonna rip it off if it stays parked all night." Bean sighed. "I can see him bustin' up the dash to hot-wire it. Probably won't even know what he's got and end up trashing it in a ditch."

"Yes, that's a nice old 'Vette," said the playboy. "A 1967, isn't it? I drive a '98 C-5 myself, but whatever blows your hair back. How much d'you pay for something like that '67?"

"Hundred twenty. She's an L-88."

The hitman whistled. "Shit, you got a bargain."

"Yeah, figure I did. Bought it for cash, y'know. Probably sell her for a hundred sixty with no trouble. In another few years, the sky's the limit."

"One hundred and sixty thousand dollars?" said Vlad, obviously impressed.

"Yeah. She's cherry. Real collector's item." He sighed again. "Wish I knew somebody'd appreciate her."

Rally listened with gathering attention, still staring at the horizon.

"Well…" said the playboy.

"That's a great deal of money just for a car," said Vlad. "But I understand the urge to own something unique."

"Hey, Bandit. It's not like I want to impose on you here—I realize this is probably pushing it a little far, considering. But man, I'd take care of a car like that. I love 'Vettes."

"Aw, you like the new ones. So many chips in those, you got to be Bill Gates to open the hood."

"Man, you're right. I used to do my own tuning sometimes, and forget that. Love to get my hands dirty on an L-88. That 'Vette's a beauty, all right. What a color, huh? You left the top somewhere, I guess."

"Yeah, I can give you the address where it is. Little complicated, though—you got something to write on?"

"Oh, and I loan you a pen? No, don't think so." The playboy chuckled. "Nice try, Bandit. I know what you can do with anything that's got a point on it."

"Well, shit." Bean scuffed a boot, looking disconsolate. Rally's rising spirits sank; her stomach cramped.

"OK, screw the top. But you can give me the keys. I mean, car keys could fall out of a pocket into the ocean, right, Vlad? Not like it would be a dead giveaway."

"I guess it wouldn't be," said Vlad.

"Then if it's not too much trouble, hand 'em over. Slowly. And just so there are no unfortunate mix-ups, if I see anything in your hand that I personally consider even a second cousin to a blade, the lady gets it first."

"I got you." Bean dug in his pants pocket; she heard the muffled jingle. "Here you go. Remember, that's my pretty blue-eyed sweetheart." He held up the ring. "She's always come through for me."

Rally's heartbeat pounded like the surf on the rocks. She tried not to tense.

"She'll be in good hands. I'm obliged to you, Bandit, and thanks for not taking this too badly." The hitman approached and held out his hand. "We'll try to make it quick, OK? No, don't move any closer. Here, toss 'em to me."

Bean turned his hand to cup the keys in his palm. He drew his hand slowly back. Then his arm windmilled in a blur and snapped forward like the crack of a bullwhip. The hitman's sunglasses shattered; he screamed.

He went down, hand to his eyes. Rally got a glimpse of blood running down his face, but her CZ75 was already out and braced. She whirled in a half circle to take in the other man.

Vlad fired at Bean and missed his moving target. Bean tackled him above the knees and knocked him down. They went tumbling ten yards down the uneven slope, Vlad underneath. He angled his Glock upwards; Rally shot it out of his hand and it cartwheeled into a tidepool. Seagulls flew off squawking.

He drew another gun from his breast pocket while lying flat and swept it out at Bean. Trying to get up and draw a knife, Bean caught his foot in a hole and fell to one knee. She couldn't shoot off Vlad's trigger finger; the bullet would keep going and hit Bean in the face. From this angle, only a brain shot would stop him quickly enough—there was no choice to make, and she pulled the trigger simultaneously with the thought.

A star-shaped hole appeared in the top of Vlad's bald head and his lower jaw and tongue blew out over the front of his shirt. The playboy got up, still screaming. One bloody hand was clamped to his face, but he fired his Colt at them. Three shots in quick succession, going wild and ricocheting off the rocks. Rally shot off his right thumb.

The Colt didn't fall. He grabbed the wounded hand with the other, uncovering his face, and she saw Bean's key ring dangling from his right eye. With his left hand, he got a shaky grip on the revolver. Rally moved a little closer, covering him in a combat crouch, and the playboy's muzzle wavered from side to side in indecision or half-blinded confusion. Was he out of action now, or about to surrender?

Bean scrambled up the rise, keeping on the man's blind side. Before the hitman could react, he seized the protruding ring in his left hand and yanked. The long serrated key embedded in the eyeball pulled free, along with most of the eye.

The playboy howled. Thick bloody fluid ran down his face to stain his collar. Rally gagged. Bean's back was turned to her, his huge shoulders mostly hiding the other man. Then an elbow jutted from behind him and Rally realized that the hitman had instinctively pointed his revolver even as he screamed in agony. The muzzle had to be an inch from Bean's heart. If Bean had been wearing his armored jacket, he would have had a near-impenetrable shield from the bullets. But today he had only put on a coat Rally had bought for him.

Rally's breath caught and she lunged to the side, trying to get some sort of angle for a shot. Why the hell hadn't she just blown out the hitman's other eye when she had the drop on him? Mercy had never seemed more misplaced. Her foot skidded on a patch of algae and she fell, striking her elbow a hard blow. Her gun bounced from her numbed grasp and slid into a deep crevice between two rocks.

The hitman fumbled for his trigger with his left hand. "Bandit…you son of a whore…"

Rally clawed at her gun, knowing she had lost her chance even as she seized the hot muzzle and extricated the CZ75 from the rocks. She rose to her knees, gasping, and swung around to aim. The hitman made a creaking noise, something like a laugh, and jabbed the muzzle of the revolver against the breast pocket of Bean's coat.

She saw Bean's right arm flash forward and down, pull back, make a quick upwards motion as if he were drawing an emphatic X.

Suddenly silent, the hitman stumbled away from him. Blood surging down his stomach and thighs from a pair of foot-long intersecting knife slashes that had almost gutted him, he tripped on the rocks and fell into the water.

Rally moved to the edge with her gun braced, knelt and looked into the churning foam, but he did not surface. The breaking waves threw salt water in her face.

Seagulls investigated the dead body with interest; one even hopped on Vlad's messy chest and pecked at a stray molar. Bean grabbed his ankles, dragged him over to the edge and rolled him in still clutching his backup gun. Returning, he searched for the Glock, fished it out and threw it after its owner. Then he scanned the rocks. Rally couldn't think what he was looking for until he reached into a crevice and picked up a pinkish object—a human thumb. It joined the rest of the debris with a tiny splash far out in the water. Bean sat on a mussel-covered rock, cleaned his knife and rinsed his sticky key ring in a pool.

Except for the slowly spreading stain in the shallow water, a run in Rally's hose and damp patches on Bean's knees, almost no evidence of the fight remained. Spilled blood was nearly invisible on the spray-wet, algae-mottled rocks, and the incoming waves would wash them clean in another hour. Bean's white shirt was still white—the blood splatter had gone in another direction.

"First blood," she said low, and holstered her CZ75 with a grateful pat to the butt. She had never been so glad that she had not put off sighting in a new gun. The fresh scratches and scrapes in the beautiful finish she barely honored with a glance.

"Yeah." Bean looked up and shook water off his keys. "You OK?"

"Fine, actually." She ran her hand over her face and took a deep breath. "If I hadn't shot him in the head, he would have shot you in the head. Not much of a moral dilemma there."

"Guess not. Thanks, Vincent."

"Thank you, Bean. That was brilliant of you. I admit I was getting measured for a halo for a few minutes there."

He grinned at her. "You sure they got your size, angel?"

"I am going to have to inform someone in law enforcement about this little incident, you know. I think Agent Smith is the obvious guy."

"Yeah, sounds about right." Bean got up and put his keys away, smiling in an abstracted manner. She dialed Smith's personal cell number as they walked back towards the shore, holding a hand over one ear to shut out the sound of the waves. He sounded tired and not entirely recovered from partying hearty. Her own hangover had vanished.

"You're shitting me. Two hitmen from Sly? Now that's one I didn't see coming—sorry, kid."

"I'm fine. Well, we're fine. I'm not going to claim I did it single-handed."

"What? Thought you said Miss May was out shopping."

"She is. I'm with Bean."

A silence, and then a hearty laugh. "Then I won't keep you. File a report at your convenience and if anything turns up I'll have the local police refer it to the DOJ. The state park service will tow their car and auction it if it goes unclaimed. I guess the bodies may eventually drift ashore, but if we're in luck there are some great whites cruising the area. Good riddance to bad rubbish."

"I couldn't agree more."

When they reached the parking lot, Bean pulled her guidebook out of his jacket. "You getting hungry? I think there's a good joint right up the inland road from here. 'Least, the book says so."

"Yeah…I guess I worked up something of an appetite." A good place to eat in a tiny farm town? That didn't seem likely. But then this was California, which seemed to hold plenty of surprises. She hesitated at the car, wondering if he meant to drive now and feeling just a little squeamish about touching the now innocent-looking key ring. But Bean indicated that she should get into the driver's seat and went around to the other side.

She drove past small old houses in varying states of repair, their yards filled with flowers and battered tractors. Small damp fields lined the southern edge of the narrow green valley and white shorebirds fluttered through the reed-choked marshes. This didn't look like a prosperous area, though it was pretty. They reached a small cluster of stores and a gas station at a two-lane intersection, which apparently was the main thoroughfare. A white steeple rose a block or two down the road, there was a small bridge over the shrub-choked creek and that was it—no more town. Most of the buildings were sturdy old construction now worn and a little cruddy. Pescadero was a one-stoplight hole in the wall if she'd ever seen one. When Bean directed her, she pulled up in a tiny parking lot next to a ramshackle brown-painted wood and stucco building. A sign on the front read 'Duarte's Tavern', with a neon cocktail glass perching unlit at the top.

"Uh, you want to eat here? Why? We could just go back to the city, or head down to Santa Cruz—that's bound to have some decent restaurants."

He held out her guidebook. "Says people come out to the coast just for a meal at this place. Worth a try, huh?"

"All right, if you insist! I doubt I'll order much."

Dubiously she followed Bean through the small screen door facing the street. Well, she'd choke down a greasy burger or whatever it was that they served here, and then they could get back on the road.

Behind a tiny glass counter filled with shells and local souvenirs, a young woman took their request for a table. No one else was waiting, but the restaurant seemed busy. Rally peered at the dining room; it looked old-fashioned and funky, with speckled linoleum, mismatched tables and chairs and no tablecloths. The place sprawled out through several oddly interconnecting rooms of random sizes. Battered knotty-pine paneling and mounted game fish on plaques completed her impression of a run-down road house. However, the place was sparkling clean and many of the diners looked well-to-do.

She sat on a built-in bench opposite the counter and looked at a free local events magazine. Eight or ten framed newspaper restaurant reviews were hanging on the wall.

"Table for two?" Another young woman came out of the dining room and led them to one of the smaller rooms at the back. This held only a few freestanding tables and a long built-in bench. She sat them down, handed them laminated menus and poured glasses of water. A couple of startled-looking stuffed deer heads surveyed them from the wall.

"Bean!" Rally spoke in a whisper when the waitress had left. "This had better be classier than it looks! I'm getting indigestion just sitting here!"

He rolled his eyes and lent his attention to the menu. Rally did the same. Lots of seafood dishes, artichoke and green chile soup, sandwiches…and pies. Her eyes grew round. They had more than a dozen varieties of pies alone, along with other desserts, and on the wall she noticed a board with a list of fresh fish catches. All right, she'd give the place a chance.

Bean ordered fish and chips, and she asked for grilled local wild salmon and a fried calamari appetizer that came almost immediately. It was delicious: greaseless and crunchy with homemade tartar sauce on the side, and she ordered another one since Bean stole at least half of it. He attacked his food when it arrived and polished off a big order in not much more than five minutes. She swiped some fries from his plate and nibbled them. Heavenly: hot and crisp and creamy inside. Needless to say, her salmon was perfectly cooked. She couldn't wait to have some pie. By the time she finished her plate, Bean had ordered and devoured another two servings of fish and chips, and put away four beers and six glasses of water. The waitress grinned wider each time he signaled for her to take away another empty plate.

The pie decision wasn't easy—they had everything from pecan to apple to chocolate cream, and Rally lingered over the menu while the waitress patiently stood there with her pad. Finally she settled on a cup of coffee and olallieberry pie, simply because she'd never heard of it, but declined a scoop of ice cream. This hadn't been a low-cal meal, though it certainly was a tasty one. Bean didn't dither. He ordered four kinds of pie and handed in the menu with a flourish. Rally laughed when he winked at her; watching him eat made her strangely happy.

* * *

Rally sighed and pushed away the last half of her olallieberry pie. She was much too full, but wished she could eat just a little more. That flaky crust was to die for, and this meal felt like a celebration of life. Crumbs and smears of juicy filling covered her plate and fork. She idly licked the fork and sipped her coffee. Bean's four stacked plates were almost entirely clean, since he didn't use his fork at all; he picked up each substantial wedge of pie and inserted it straight between his jaws. He licked his fingers, reached for her plate and finished what she had left, and contemplated the dessert menu again with an appetite only slightly less apparent. Rally groaned in overstuffed contentment.

"Bean, you're going to explode if you eat any more pie! But I envy you your fat and sugar capacity right now. If I'm ever back in San Francisco, I'm going to drive down here every chance I get. Who knew?"

"Yeah, that kitchen's got their deep-fryin' down to an art." He looked up from the menu. "There's a bar in the back, too. Nice joint."

"Yes, I went through there on my circuitous route to the bathroom. You know this building is more than a hundred years old? I think it just grew itself a new room every time it needed one."

Bean made a slight shrug. "If you want, we could hang out for a while and come back for dinner."

"Hang out and do what? Don't tell me there's a fascinating historic wrecking yard or something." Rally laughed.

"Well, uh, there's some antiques and handcrafts places right down the block, if you like that kinda stuff." He pointed at an entry in the guidebook. "And there's a sort of a little hotel farther up this road."

"Oh, a bed and breakfast? Well, I don't know what there'd be to see at—" She stopped, her heart pounding. Was that his idea of a subtle hint?

Apparently it was. He raised his eyes from the book and met hers, his gaze guarded but suffused with something almost incendiary. Maybe his lips were dry, because he quickly ran his tongue along them and swallowed. "I dunno." Unlike his entire manner, his voice was even and quiet, demanding nothing. "I don't got anything going on, so I don't have to get back to the city any particular time. You decide." He pushed the guidebook at her and sat back, his arms folded. Again his eyes met hers.

Rally felt like a thunderstorm had rolled in from the ocean and soaked her to the skin. So much for her sunny day. Sweat ran down between her breasts. "I, uh, I think maybe we ought to head back. It's getting late, and I'm supposed to be packing." She checked the time just to have an excuse to look away.

"Leaving today, huh?"

"Yes, thank goodness. Finally." She tried a laugh. "And of course on my last day here I find a great drive and a really good place for lunch! I'm almost sorry to go now."

"Yeah." He meant it as a statement, not a question. No matter how polite he was being about it today, obviously he was burning to ask her again if she would sleep with him; both of them surely knew this was probably his last chance. Certainly once they got home to Chicago, something would change in the delicate balance of their relationship. Their lives would fall back into their historic patterns of work and rivalry and that elusive something would vanish forever. Unless they made a decision now, before the sun set on this day, to hold on to what had happened during this long summer vacation, a few brief weeks already receding like a half-remembered dream.

She knew what Bean wanted, then. Did she know what she wanted? He didn't mean something serious, did he? Rally shuddered at the idea of Bean proposing marriage to anyone. No, of course not. He wanted her, just as he'd said last night, but not as a ball and chain. The freedom of her thighs, she had seen it called in Irish sagas—in plainer terms, a fuck buddy.

Once Rally had believed she would never let sex shackle her to anyone. Her parents had shown her all the ways a man and woman could consume each other and everyone around them. Bean might be able to treat sex as a fifty-fifty deal, an arrangement to satisfy their appetites; Rally knew she could no longer afford even to open negotiations. She wouldn't be able to keep anything back from him; her passions lay ready to seize her like an addiction. Given the smallest provocation she would strip herself to the bone. She steeled herself against the longing in Bean's face and got up from the table.

Bean's head bowed for a moment; he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Rally took a credit card out of her purse and put it down on their bill. No ambiguity there—he certainly wasn't going to pay for the date, not with this in the air. She quickly signed the slip, tore out her carbon copy and walked out to the little parking lot. A few admirers had gathered around the Corvette, but they scattered when its owner approached with heavy tread. He certainly didn't look like he was in the mood for trading pleasantries with fellow car lovers. Rally got into the passenger seat.

Bean slid behind the wheel of his beautiful car without a word. He backed it out with unconscious skill, but seemed to take no particular joy in driving just now. North on Highway 1, retracing the way they had come. The sun crept lower in the west. Bean wasn't driving fast; several cars passed him on the straighter stretches. That alone struck her as odd. He took no notice, resting one arm on his door and keeping his right hand wrapped around the wheel at the ten o'clock position.

At this speed, the road noise was low enough that they could carry on a conversation. If they wanted to, that was. What on earth did she feel like she had to say to him? Her uncomfortable feeling of inhibition grew as they approached the city. When they reached a town that nestled in the steep hills above a beautiful cove and beach, she touched Bean's arm.

"Could we stop?" He looked at her and immediately pulled over to the beach side of the road. A number of parked cars were strung out along here, some with occupants. The late-afternoon light cast golden glows on the heights and violet shadows in the deep recesses of the hills. The surf line gleamed and churned, a few people attempting the waves in wetsuits. She saw windsurfers farther out to sea, their bright sails scudding over the water.

"Kinda pretty." Bean turned off the ignition and looked to the west. "You want to stay here a while, Rally?" He didn't sound exactly cheerful, but his mood seemed to lighten a little.

"You know, uh, Bean, my real name is Irene. 'Rally' just sounded more convincing for bounty hunting."

"Yeah, I heard you say that." He glanced over. "What, you rather people called you by yer given name?"

"Well, no, not exactly…I think of myself as Rally most of the time." She folded her arms and looked at the high sea stacks surrounded by rolling water. Cars sped by them a few feet away, rocking the Corvette slightly. "That name's what I made myself into. Irene's just the name my parents gave me. But, you know, it's not like I hate it or anything. Plenty of people call me Irene. I don't mind."

"OK."

For some reason she had hoped he might reciprocate. But it wasn't like her legal name was any secret. If she wanted information, she had to pay for it in better currency. And she longed for information on Bean. That folder wasn't the answer, though some of what she had found in there had threatened to pierce her to the heart. She wanted to hear it from his own lips, whatever it was. Anything, any detail of his life or his thoughts or his reasoning, given to her of his own free will. All of him seemed valuable to her, the entire contents of his mind, like a heap of strange treasures carried in an elusive vessel. Suddenly she ached to tell him, tell him something: about her deep urge to question him, to get to the bottom of him in any way she could, or at least to discover some sort of anchor, a steady rock in his being to which she could cling. With Bean she felt she was always at sea.

Rally looked down to her lap and realized she had been twisting her hands tightly together for several minutes. Bean settled back against the door, watching her.

"So, Rally Irene, you got something you want to tell me?" He looked like he had armored himself against anything she could say.

"Um…Brown, Sly Brown…maybe he's all the way dead at last."

"Yeah."

"Manichetti killed him…I don't know why I wasn't expecting that. He had every reason in the book to rid the world of Sly Brown. But it knocked me for a loop anyway. He dumped him in the ocean just like we did with those scumbags, somewhere way out there…"

The surfers paddled on their boards, rising and falling with the waves.

"But I keep thinking about him. Or about how he talked, you know."

"Enough to drive you nuts, you mean."

"Yes, he didn't shut up too often…he talked about you a lot."

"About me." Bean looked contemptuous. "Yeah, tryin' to poison me, I guess. Not like he'd have known what he was talkin' about."

"That's…that's what I wanted to ask you. About the things he said about you."

Bean inclined his head and shrugged, looking at least partly receptive.

"He was always talking about…your, uh, your sex life." There, it was said, and if he shut her out now, this conversation and all others were probably over for good. "It seemed to be one of his favorite subjects."

Bean curled his lip. "Like I said, how could he know jack about that?"

She wasn't about to mention her possession of the folder, but of course Bean knew that Brown had made a study of him. Every disclosure she had been able to cross-reference had checked out so far. "He did do a lot of research on you."

"All right, shoot. What'd he say?" He spoke with weary patience, as if he realized she needed to settle this to her satisfaction but didn't look forward to the process.

"Well, Brown told me you were pretty busy in that respect. I don't know if that was a lie or not."

"Busy?" Bean had a skeptical scowl.

"That you used prostitutes all the time."

"Shit, no!" He looked disgusted. "Why the hell would I want to pay for it? And I sure wouldn't take it in lieu of cash."

That she could believe. "He said you'd had a lot of one-night stands."

"I dunno. How many is a lot?"

"Umm...well, how many have you had?"

"Like I'm keepin' score?" His voice rose slightly.

"I don't know! That's what I'm trying to find out!"

Bean pulled a face. "I sure as hell am not settin' records for it. I got better things to do."

"Than have sex? Maybe so."

"I don't hang out fishin' for it, that's all." He shrugged. "I get offers. I don't take all of 'em up on it. Some gals like my looks, I guess."

"Such as poor Sue. Obviously she had no idea what she was in for."

"Hey, she's a big girl. I didn't do nothin' to her she didn't like just fine."

"If I were her, I think I'd swear off men again, and this time maybe forever. What did you say to her that made her look like she wanted to slap your face?"

Bean chuckled with an unpleasant undertone. "You really want to hear that?"

"Uh…actually, no." She rolled her eyes. "Though I can imagine. Something like what you might say to the sort of women who usually make you offers."

"Like you, Rally Irene?"

"I didn't make you an—" Her voice rose and she reared up in her seat, then fell back. "OK. OK. Truce. I don't want to make assumptions. That's why I'm asking you about this in the first place."

Bean made an irritated sound. "I guess I messed around some when I was a kid. I got my growth young and I wasn't too shy. But these days I'm busy most of the time. The cars need a lot of work, and I go on jobs four-five times a month. I don't worry a lot about how often I get laid." He showed his teeth to the rear-view mirror; she suspected she was the only woman for many years to have disturbed his equilibrium to such an extent, and she realized not for the first time that frustration and downright torment probably played a large part in how he felt about her. But at least he was answering her questions.

"What about a steady girlfriend?"

"Like how?" He gestured as if the impossibility of this was plain. "She'd want to know all about how I made my dough and get huffy when I wouldn't tell her. She'd want to see my place and I'd get tired of making up excuses. She'd get mad when I'd call and say I couldn't make it out to a date 'cause I had to drive sixteen hundred miles in the next day and a half and the wheels on the 'Cuda needed balancing. She'd tell me to dump the cars or dump her, and I'd dump her."

"Is that a description of someone?"

"Close enough."

"Well, that wasn't really what I meant...but I think it answers the question anyway. You don't want anyone getting very close to you, because of what you do for a living. A woman would be a risk you don't want to take." She almost felt relief. That was that! He had no room in his mind or heart for a real relationship; it was totally out of the question.

"Most women would be. There's a few who wouldn't be so bad...well, there's one I know of."

"Oh…"

"You know if she's looking for a man? He shows up on time if he made a promise in the first place." He turned his eyes on her.

Her heart gave a great, terrified thump. "She wasn't looking, no."

Bean sucked on his teeth. "Does she mind if it was an accident, then?"

"She believes in cleaning up accidents, not in letting them ride. You never know when there's more damage than was suspected at first."

"Guess not." He tapped his fingers on the top of the door, looking drained. She thought she knew how he felt; this couldn't be easy for either of them. "You mind telling me something now?"

"What is it?"

"Did you tell Coleman, about that night…you know, in yer car…" He gestured as if he hoped she would fill in the blanks. "He thought I'd made you do it. Slugged ya and held ya down." A hint of well-controlled revulsion passed over his face. She had the feeling that the mere concept of rape was so abhorrent to him that he had to employ all his defenses to keep from displaying strong emotion at the mention of it. Why was that dislike so powerful? "You know. He said, flat out, that you'd claimed I forced you."

She shook her head in a slow, grim arc. "No. Absolutely not. I wanted to pound him into the ground when I found out what he'd said to you. You didn't really think I'd accused you of rape, not after you thought about it!"

"No. Not like you to do something like that. You leave things out, but you don't make 'em up."

"Guilty." She smiled at him. "I guess you've learned something about me."

The warmth in Bean's eyes made her skin tingle. "Yeah, I guess I already had some idea how you handle that kinda stuff. I just wanted to hear it from you." He gave her an inquiring look. "How'd you find that out, anyway? Didn't think Coleman was gonna confess."

A deep flush heated her cheeks. "Well…uh…there was an FBI recording device in my car at the time…"

"Huh?" Bean's face went blank for a moment. "Oh, fucking hell." Suddenly he shoved his door open and strode a few paces away from the car, stopping when he hit the sand. "Oh, crap." He grabbed his head in both hands and bent over. "Jesus! They played you a tape?"

"Wesson did. He got kicked off the case a few minutes later."

Oh, God, why had she brought this up? Rally cringed down into the seat, her gluttonous meal churning in her belly. The filthiest mouth in the known universe, that was what he had! The fury and humiliation she had felt flooded over her again. She didn't want to shoot him any more, but right now she didn't even want to be sitting in a car he owned.

Rally got out and made a wide circle around Bean, heading out towards the surf. This was a large and uniformly sandy beach, and the going was slow and awkward. She paused after walking a hundred yards in a long curve. With a peek over her shoulder, she spotted Bean leaning on his car, a picture of shame and dejection.

He wouldn't drive off without her, so she decided to wait a while longer before coming back. Rally took off her shoes and ruined her hose wading in the surf. The sun had sunk within a few degrees of the ocean when she put her shoes back on and slogged across the sand again. This exercise gave her time to run over Bean's entire obscene tirade in her mind, work her anger to a high pitch, and then remember how May had not put the same interpretation on it that she had. That softened her feelings a little, but not as much as all that. When she approached the car, Bean was sitting on the ground with one knee drawn up and his back against the driver's door, watching the descent of the sun.

She'd forgiven him once for something far worse: for trying to kill her and May. If he asked for forgiveness now, if he got down on his knees and begged her long and humbly enough, maybe she'd bestow her good graces on him again. Not the way she had earlier today, of course; that degree of intimacy just wasn't possible now.

Bean didn't show any sign of making her an obeisance, however. He got up as she approached and dusted his pants.

"Going my way?" The expression on his face wasn't much like a smile.

"I guess so." Rally went around the back of the car and got in. Bean slammed his door and put his hands on the wheel.

"You know, babe…" He hadn't called her 'babe' all day. "I was talking to other men when I got that little speech off. Smith and his boys cuffed me, Coleman was raggin' on my—"

"That's the damn problem, Bean. You said that to people I knew!"

"What?" He actually looked angry. "You don't want your friends hearing you and I had a good fuck that night? You don't want them hearing you liked it in the sack with me? I only did what you asked me to, Rally, and all I ever got back from you—" Bean pulled a terrible face and clenched a fist. "You fucking little cold-assed bitch."

In shock, she stared at him, her mouth open.

"Damn it, woman, say something to me! I've been eatin' out my guts for—" He groaned as if some parasite gnawed on his living heart. "Say something to me, goddammit!"

Silence, the kind that pierced holes in your eardrums.

"Why don't you take me home, Bean," she said in a very quiet monotone. He started the car and pulled out.


	29. Chapter 29

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Twenty-Nine**

The sunset bathed the tree-covered slopes and rocky coast in beautiful rosy-orange light, but to Rally's eyes the view was ashes and rust.

Bean drove in dead silence, never looking anywhere but directly ahead or over his left shoulder. She might not have existed to him, except for the pain she knew she had caused him. Bean had never meant to use her the way she had used him; she'd assigned the weight of her own sins to him so she wouldn't have to bear them herself. He had carried this for her so long, concealing his own burden. When a man displayed a giant's strength, the whole world only tried to hitch a free ride on his back…

All the way up the winding road that climbed the hill, a heavy consciousness that she had wronged him grew heavier and turned blacker. Rally shrank into a tight, protective ball, gripping her upper arms so hard it hurt. Little Miss Perfect, righteous and well-read and looking down at the whole world from her high horse. Patronizing and dismissing anything and anyone who didn't meet her impossible standards. She'd been far more pleasant and charitable to the man she didn't want than to the only man she had ever imagined wanting.

What she had thought was her greatest mistake of all—asking Bean for his comfort—seemed to her now like her only honest action in all her dealings with him. Whether they meant to or not, together they had brought something almost tangible into existence that night. He knew that much better than she did; he could recognize the truth when he saw it.

Or when the truth filled him with exultation, made him rejoice like a little kid at Christmas just because Rally Vincent had made love with him. And she had pushed him away as far as she could, terrified of that enormous reality.

She had thought she knew what love was. Neediness, slavery to something outside herself that would forever cripple her. An addiction that ate away at mind and body. Her mother and father had loved each other, and each of them, handsome, talented and passionate, had destroyed the other's spirit in the wreckage. Her mother had become a vicious shrew, her father a grim, defeated man, doomed to an existence in the shadows because of his crimes.

Tears crept down Rally's cheeks and she wiped them away, trying to hide them from Bean. All of that misery had been her fault; she had known that since she was three years old. To a young girl, an only child and the focus of their unrestrained battles, love was fear, frantic sobbing, cringing at the foot of the stairs while the two people she adored most in the world tore each other apart.

If she had never been born, maybe her parents would still be happy. And together. Her mother had died hating everything about the husband she was still hooked on, including fifteen-year-old Irene's intense attachment to him. But without a thought he had abandoned his daughter, his protégé, his worshipper, to carry out a savage revenge for his wife's murder.

Though she was gone, he had longed only to follow her, even to the gates of hell. Wasn't that love?

She turned to gaze at the stern profile of the man next to her. He did look a little like her father, didn't he? Tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired. Taciturn, always straight to the point when he did speak, with a deep current underlying his unyielding self-control. Both of them, the most important men in her life, had an enormous capacity for violence—and maybe for a violent kind of love. Something that eclipsed all other considerations: something that led to the point of death and beyond.

Bean had died for her, or the next thing to dying, and for her he had come back from the darkness. Something hot and sharp seemed to penetrate her vitals. Did Bean love her the way her father still loved her mother?

Rally hugged herself even tighter, trying to disappear. If he did, it was all her fault...

But Bean wasn't her father, even if the superficial resemblance might have had something to do with her initial feelings towards him: a mixture of fascination and resentment. Where could she find anyone so steadfast in her defense and support? Rejection after rejection, he still worked to earn her good opinion. What on earth did she think she had to do before she could give the smallest thing to someone who had given her so much? Punish him for the sins of someone else as well as his own? Grind down and destroy the best qualities in him to prove she'd been right all along?

She had her own capacity for striking at the heart of a man, trying to chop him off at the roots just to bring him down with her. That capacity for chilling a man to death, sending bitterness through his blood until he froze to the roots—Rally came by it honestly. She'd tried so hard to be her father's darling, but at heart she knew was her mother's daughter.

For crying out loud, she'd gotten plastered and let someone she'd known for a few weeks get into her pants in a toilet stall! While at the same time she shuddered at the thought of allowing a man who cared for her to return to her not-so-chaste bed. In his hands she had never received anything but passion and warmth. More than that—respect and consideration. And something larger that encompassed all those, something in him that reached out to her and brought her always nearer, to come at last to shelter within the great circle of his arms.

Just short of the city limits, the Corvette stopped at a red light.

Believing she was about to breathe her last in the dead grasp of Sylvester Brown had hurt her less than the look on Bean's face right now. How could blankness speak so plainly? Yet still holding firm under every passing mood was the bedrock of his nature: a primal strength and deep intelligence she knew she barely comprehended. Which she didn't deserve, but he had given to her anyway, the most precious thing ever put into her hands. Which she had come to depend on in a way so profound that at the thought of losing him her breath suddenly came painfully, like stabs to her very center.

"I'm sorry, Bean." The words fell into her lap like stones. "I've treated you like crap, and it's all my fault. I was afraid. I'm a coward. You don't want me—I'd cut your balls off in an instant if I could. I AM a bitch." She smothered a sob and hung her head low. "You should have told me so before. I knew it anyway. I guess I would have denied it and called you names. But at least you'd be rid of me."

The sob would not be suppressed. Rally put one hand to her forehead and dug it into her hair with a painful grip. "Dear God, Bean…it would take a thousand years to say everything I ought to say to you. You know better than anyone just how stupid I've been. I'm sorry."

He took the turn without speaking and headed up towards 19th Avenue. Daring a glance at his face while he concentrated on the next left, she saw his windblown hair haloed in the last rays of the sun, an aureole around his face. A strange image, but one that shot the lesson home like an arrow to her heart. Bean turned his eyes to her and slowed in the heavy traffic on 19th. It took him a moment to form his lips around what he meant to say.

"Guess you an' me got a few things in common, then."

He couldn't mean that he was a coward too. What could ever frighten Bean Bandit?

"Rally…Irene…I…well, that's just words. I'm not mad, OK? Not really. Not like I was when I thought you stole that money." He shifted his posture a little in his seat. "You don't owe me nothing on that score or any other."

"You don't owe me anything either."

"Nah, that's not so. But I don't want to get rid of you, woman." He closed his eyes and smiled ruefully. "I can't do that anyhow. Just treat me like a man. That's all any man can ask."

She nodded slowly. "Thank you, Bean."

"No problem." He shook his head and let out a deep breath.

"You know…"

"What, sweetheart?"

"I had a big speech prepared. For when I saw you again after the rescue—I thought about it for days. It was all about how wonderful and brave you were, and how grateful I am for what you did for me, and for Larry and Agent Bui. I _am _grateful—I've never been more grateful to anyone. But I wonder if I ever would have said it to you even if you'd shown up at the hospital as soon as I was able to talk. I might have been looking for an excuse not to. I know I was looking for an excuse when I decided to get mad at you just now."

"That so? Well, I ain't surprised." Bean smiled slightly. "Like you said, I've learned somethin' about you."

"Yes." Rally fiddled with her hands. "Um…well, they have your Buff in crates in the FBI evidence warehouse. It wasn't just the fire damage—May kind of blew it up some more with a grenade. While throwing it at 426, that is. Did you hear...?"

"Yeah, that bang carried pretty well. I figured that had to be her, though I wasn't sure why she'd hauled out the artillery."

"I'm glad she was there and on her toes. I didn't have much left in me. It didn't look like you did either."

"Yeah, I might've been more shell-shocked than I knew." He made a face. "Didn't realize ol' Four got out of the fire with us till I heard it later. Shouldn't've been a stretch to figure out it was his crazy ass ridin' in my trunk that screwed up the landing. He almost got us fried, though I dunno if that was what he was after." Bean glanced at her. "But I guess he decided that was how he wanted to go after all."

Rally gave a little shivering twitch.

"Vincent?"

"It's a funny thing to say about a psychopathic murderer, but in some ways he was a lot more than that." She rubbed her arms for warmth. The sun had gone and the evening breeze was coming up. "He handed me his Sig and called me a worthy opponent. I'm not sure why I even care that a Triad assassin decided he approved of me in some weird respect. I turned the gun over to the FBI for ballistics analysis—it's not like I wanted a memento of that guy. But I don't need anything to remind me." She pulled in her lips and glanced up at the sky. "I don't think I'm ever going to forget watching him fly through that wall of flame."

Bean chuckled. "Not like I wanted to stick around with every cop in the city coming down, but I kinda wish I had. Must've been a sight."

"Yes, well…are you all right, Bean? I finally figured out why your voice was so bad last night. It was just like mine while I was in the hospital. You sound much better today, though."

"Yeah, I dumped my cigs." Bean made a self-deprecating shrug. "Damn cough kept coming back whenever I took a drag. Didn't want to put two and two together, but it was getting too obvious to ignore."

"That's right. You haven't lit up once all afternoon." Rally's brows went up. "Is it permanent?"

"I dunno. Just thought I'd knock off on the cancer sticks for a while and see how it goes. Might buy a pack or two by accident."

"Whatever it takes." She smiled.

When they neared Golden Gate Park in the bright traffic stream of white and red lights, the dusk gathering under the trees, she turned to him again.

"Can I ask you a really personal question? I mean, another one?"

"What you want to know?"

"There's just one thing—other than money, I mean—that seems to be able to get right under your skin. Every time it turns up, whether for real or just in talk, you go nuclear. Can you tell me why you hate it so much? I mean…the whole subject…of rape."

A dreadful wave of emotion passed over his face. The car actually wandered into the next lane before he jerked the wheel straight again. A couple of drivers honked peevishly at him, but Bean only stared at her. "Christ, woman. Why the hell you want to know that?"

"Be-because it's important. To you, I mean." She had a horrific thought—that he spoke from some kind of experience. How young had he been when he hit the streets? "That's why you felt you had to s-say what you said to Roy and the agents, and…I guess I can understand that. If you c-can't tell me why, I'll understand that too. I wanted you to know…that I care about that. What's important to you."

Once again he pulled to the right, took a small side road into the park forest and stopped the car away from the few streetlights. No one was around, and the city seemed suddenly to have vanished behind ranks of tall trees. In the growing darkness she had a little trouble reading Bean's face.

"'Scuse me. I got to get out for a sec." He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the door. Rally couldn't tell what he meant until he walked into the bushes and unzipped his fly with his back to her. All right, he'd had a lot of beer. When he returned, he stood in front of the Corvette with his hands in his pockets, obviously thinking something over.

"Let's clear one thing up. It never happened to me, you got that?"

She couldn't help a smile of relief. "I understand."

"But I ain't so sure you want to know the answer."

"I don't know. That's…really up to you."

He turned at a slight angle away from her and was silent for a little while. "Once or twice you as good as called me that to my face."

"I know. I'm sorry. I realized it was a sore spot and I wanted to jab you where it hurt. There aren't all that many ways to get to you, you know..."

"More'n you think. I ain't going to advertise 'em."

"That's probably wise. But please, Bean, I never really thought you—" She pushed up in her seat as well and jumped out of the car.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved a hand at the trees and lawns around them. "I think this joint closes at sundown, and I sure don't want to meet any cops right now...for the sake of the cops, that is. But the hell with it—I gotta take a walk."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Yeah, whatever. I'm not leavin' you here on yer own anyway."

They chose a path that led through the trees and walked slowly by necessity, since there were no lights and the darkness was now thick. But the path was smooth and fairly straight, so they covered a reasonable distance in fifteen minutes. Emerging from the forest, they walked past a statue on a high pedestal and found a bench to sit on. Bean leaned back with his hands behind his head, looking at the sky.

A few stars had come out, more than she usually saw in San Francisco because of the city lights and the fog. But this night was clear as crystal, and the park was a wide slice of manicured wilderness in the middle of the city. She didn't know any constellations well enough to name them, but invented her own from the points of light she could see. A chilly wind blew over the grass, and Rally edged closer to Bean until she felt the aura of his warmth. He seemed aware of her nearness, but did nothing about it. His features were almost invisible now.

Perhaps he had been waiting for the darkness to hide him, because he cleared his throat. "You're asking me a lot of questions today, lady."

"Yes, I am. Maybe that's a good sign."

"Could be." He drew several deep breaths, reinforcing himself, and planted his hands on the bench to each side of his thighs, making a fence of his arms. She heard the wood creak under his grip. "You wanted to know why I beat the shit out've anybody who tries to do a rape."

"You don't have to tell me, Bean. It's OK." She reached up and touched his shoulder. "I know you're doing it for the right reasons."

He ground his teeth so hard she heard them rasp. "You know that, do you?"

"What?" Her skin prickled all over.

"That's right. That's why I'd like to kill any guy that pulls that sort of thing." Bean held his breath, let it out. "Because I did it once, that's why."

"You—did it once?"

"I helped rape a girl," said Bean with deliberation, as if wanting to make sure she understood him. "Sixteen years ago, almost, and I've never forgotten the way she cried, and I've never done it again." He took another deep, shaking breath and sagged forward, elbows on his knees and his hands locked together before him.

Rally felt a strange cold calm, the blood seeming to drain out of her heart. "You must…have been a teenager."

"Yeah. I was fifteen and even stupider than that sounds."

"That's pretty young to do something like that. There were other people with you?"

"Some other guys, yeah."

"Friends of yours?"

"No."

"Then what...?"

Bean was silent.

"Bean...this m-may not be something you want to give me details about. But if you don't tell me something, it's going to be pretty hard not to fill in the rest from my—"

"Go ahead." His voice stung her. "You already know how it went. You know how my whole damn life went. I'm just some bag of meat with a pair of fists and a dick. I don't have any rep or any rules or even half a spoonful of brains. There ain't any other way I could operate but like the dirtiest scumbag you ever hauled into jail. That's the kind of man you know best, I figure."

"That's not true. You know Roy. You've even met my father. I don't believe that men are dirt! I don't believe that you're—"

"Then fill it in from there, woman." He straightened up and stiffened his shoulders. "What the hell do you want from me? You keep asking me to slice my fucking guts out and hand 'em to you! Do I got to cut myself to bits before you think you know me good enough?"

"Bean, I have to drag even the smallest things out of you with a team of wild horses. You want something that's pretty darn important to ME, but you hate it when I ask for anything that might shed a little light on you. Just for instance, you've never even told me your real name!" Oh, that was a cheap shot…

He gave a disgusted snarl. "I use the one that fits me. It don't matter what's on a piece of paper somewhere."

He was right—paper meant nothing. But she ached to hear this from him: anything at all. "But why that name? How did you get it and what's your theory on how it fits you? How am I supposed to learn anything about you unless you tell me? Bean, I want to know!"

"How about how I do things? Don't that tell you anything?"

"You mean like walking off with half a million dollars? With TWELVE million dollars? Like running me and May off the road and threatening Larry just to see him shake? What kind of character can I build out of that?"

"Pretty Larry, huh? You like admirin' a nice wax 'n' polish job, is that it?"

"Like I'm too blind to see anything beyond that? Speaking of the fanciest wax job I've ever seen, would you kindly recall that I threatened to shoot off Sly Brown's balls?"

Bean huffed and sat back hard.

"You do seem to be trying to make a good impression on me today, Bean. Dusting off your best manners and letting me drive your drop-dead gorgeous L-88? Sure, that's a lot better than getting drunk at someone else's party and being about as nasty as you can manage without actually inflicting permanent physical harm. But civilized behavior for one afternoon isn't going to make any difference to how I think about you, and you know it."

For about ten minutes, the silence was deafening. Bean got up and walked out into the meadow. She saw him as a tall dark shape in the lighter grass, pacing back and forth under the stars. He came back again and stood near her, his posture tense and defensive.

Finally he began to speak in a low voice, flat and emotionless, staring straight ahead at the dim bronze figure by the path. His sentences came in uneven lengths, with long halts between many phrases as if he had to gather his strength for each detail of recollection.

"It was August of '83. Real hot night and a lot of trouble going down. I didn't know these guys. I might've seen 'em around before but I didn't know their names. I caught a ride with 'em when my car threw a rod drag-racing, and it was a Saturday night and we were all drunk as hell. I had a six-pack of Bull in me at least. Four of us in all, and I think the guy with the car was about twenty-five—I was the youngest, but I didn't look it. I was a beanpole when I was still in grade school. Not a whole lot of meat on me back then, but I could already bust up guys a few years older."

His voice died out in a whisper and he paused a long time before resuming. Rally sat motionless, willing herself not to scream or cry or run away from him no matter what she heard next. She had asked him for this. God, she had asked for it…

"We saw a girl walking along the road and we stopped and got her in the car, in the back seat, and the two back there ripped all her clothes off and took turns at her while the other guy drove and I sat in the front and watched it happen. I didn't do nothing to stop it and I didn't say nothing to stop it. She was crying like hell and she puked on the seats, and they wiped it up with her shirt and kept going. They raped her, they made her suck 'em, they beat her till her eyes were swelled shut and one of 'em did it to her in the ass."

Rally nearly threw up herself. She rocked back and forth on the bench with her hands clamped to her mouth, dizzy and sick, feeling the pain and tragedy of that night in Bean's dry, dull intonation. How many times had he repeated this to himself with no one to hear?

"They switched drivers at a light and the guy who owned the car worked her over some more. The other guys sat there laughing an' drinking beer and callin' it like a wrestling match. Then they said there was some left and it was my turn now, and I got in the back seat, but it smelled like puke and she was a mess and I wasn't feeling as horny as I thought I was supposed to, so I just kinda fooled around with her a little and quit. We dumped her out of the car behind an all-night gas station and took off."

"Oh."

"That's the whole goddamn story. Shoot my balls off, bounty hunter." He put his index finger to his head and cocked the hammer with his thumb. "You want to know anything else?"

"How old was she?"

"A kid. Maybe a year older'n me. Probably a runaway too."

"What did you do to her? You, not them."

"Felt her up, mostly. Her chest. That was about the only part of her that wasn't covered with blood. Or somethin' else."

She might have heard of this kind of thing from Roy or other cops; a gang-rape with a reluctant participant. But she'd never heard of such a violent one in such close quarters that didn't involve every attacker to the maximum degree of his ability. Could a young teenager really have avoided being swept up in the brutality of the mob? "That's all? You didn't...?"

"You don't have to believe me if you don't want to. It's not like it makes all that much difference—I was there. But no. I didn't rape her."

She did believe him, however unlikely it seemed. "Did you get a charge out of it?"

"I got kind of turned on watching, at first." His voice thickened with sullen shame. "Then they started smacking her around and calling her a slut and telling her she wanted it, and when that guy butt-fucked her she was screaming and begging him to stop 'cause it hurt so much, and she started bleeding down her legs. Made me freakin' sick."

Rally nearly fell from her seat, into a cold dark fog of her own making. "And when you touched her? Did you like that?"

"No damn fun at all. I'd made it with some gals already and it'd been a whole lot friendlier and I couldn't figure out why these guys thought this was such a great way to do it. They were watching me and eggin' me on to do just what they did. I put my hands on her but I just didn't have the balls to..." Bean forced a hard breath through his teeth, something like a sob. "I knew she was hurt because by then she just laid there moaning and didn't even try to fight me. I grabbed her clothes and gave 'em back to her but I knew that wasn't going to help."

He slowly wiped his face with one hand. "I felt like…like somebody a lot bigger'n me was staring me right in the eyes and all the way through to the back of my head, and I didn't like that one bit."

"Do you know what happened to her?"

"Nope. Never saw those guys again either."

"You remember that pretty well, Bean. Do you think about it a lot?"

"Once in a while."

"I see." She felt cold, gray, lost. Who was this strange man standing here in the dark? Why was he telling her this terrible story?

"Look, Vincent, I knew it was a shit thing to do, even if I didn't know what to do to stop it or even that I should do something to stop it. It took me a few years before I got it through my head just how shit it was. Every time I spot anything like that going on, I see red. I don't know how many times I've kicked ass on punks who were up to the same kind of crap. It don't make up for that girl and it never will. I wish somebody had stomped me into dogmeat for going along on that ride." His voice cracked and went rough. "I should've done something to stop 'em, and I didn't."

She seemed to recognize him again, a little. "Three against one? What do you think you could have done?"

"You think that matters a damn, Vincent?" His tone was harsh, but she could have sworn he was crying. "I didn't have to get in that back seat with her. I could have said no thanks."

"Why didn't you? Were you afraid they'd beat you up too?"

He turned his head to the side, and then lowered it. "Naw." His voice fell quiet so that she had to strain to hear. "I was afraid...they'd laugh at me."

Oh, God. A shudder went over her, but it was equal parts horror and sympathy. He'd been a boy, not a man. A child trapped in a nightmare, knowing he couldn't escape what was happening to that girl, and believing he couldn't show any sign of weakness to the filthy scumbags responsible. Could it be right to imagine there were two actual victims of this crime? Suddenly she realized just how much of a child Bean had been; he hadn't corrected this old memory with new information, just as he hadn't done the math when he had told her how he'd received his facial scar.

Rally cleared her tightened throat. "Did they laugh at you for not raping her?"

"Some. But I think they figured I didn't want to be fourth in line—like goin' first was some kinda freakin' prize. That guy got her cherry and he was whoopin' and hollerin' about it while she was crying buckets. God, I hate hearing women cry."

"Good God, Bean." Chills ran down her neck. "Is _that_ why you stopped the first time we had sex? When I told you I was a virgin?"

Bean let his head roll back and lowered it again, blowing out his cheeks with a noisy puff of air. "Yeah, partly. I guess."

"Partly?"

He shrugged and made a low sound, like a farewell to an unattainable delusion. "Surprised the livin' shit out of me that a hard-boiled gal like you would still have it. I figured anyone who'd rent a room with a guy would have to know the whole score and not give a damn. Didn't realize even when you got so antsy that it was the other way round. Then when you told me, it all made sense, I felt like a damn fool, and I had to get the hell out of that bed."

"So you never slept with a virgin before me?"

Bean gave a dry, humorless chuckle, then another.

"OK. Dumb question…"

"I never messed around with _any_ girl who knew her firearms that well. I was awake half the night regrettin' I'd ever had a dirty thought in my head. The other half I spent worrying about whether I'd got you mad enough to call the whole thing off or just leave me with a bullet up my ass by way of farewell."

"I might have at that."

"Well, there you go."

"All right, Bean. Thank you for telling me that. It's horrible, but it explains a lot." Sympathy, yes. She could feel sympathy for that child along with her sorrow for that nameless girl. But the massive presence of the grown man still seemed oppressive.

"Yeah, maybe." Quiet, fatalistic—he thought she had written him off for good.

Had she? Rally wondered if she could ever bear to let him touch her again. Bean wandered off a little way and leaned on the pedestal of the bronze statue. Barely visible, his face was a pale shape in the gloom. He glanced at the insensible figure above him, lowered his head and scuffed one boot at the earth. Turning, he put his back against the pedestal and stared out into the meadow, arms folded.

Perhaps he would have liked always to have been as unbending as metal and granite, an incorruptible image of himself. Had she made him believe that was what she wanted? No, he was flesh and blood: fallible, wounded. Like herself.

And he had just given her the rock she needed. An indelible piece of his character, rooted deep in his past, scarred on his heart. The filth he had lived in so long had not truly stained him; he had an instinctive sense of right and a conscience so stern he could never leave a debt of any kind unpaid. She knew she had no idea what he had suffered for so many of his twenty-nine years. It wasn't fair of her to punish him for something for which he had already excoriated himself to the bone.

Rally got up and approached Bean halfway. His face tilted towards her.

"Bean, I…I don't actually think worse of you for it—"

"Yeah, you had your mind made up about me already." He looked away.

"That isn't what I meant." Warmth began to wake in her heart again. "You made a bad mistake, but you learned from it. And you've brought that lesson home to some other people who needed the benefits. You saved May from something like that. I know she's grateful, and so am I." To emphasize the point, she walked up to him and put her arms around him from the side.

When she laid her cheek against his coat, Bean took a deep breath. Rally held him with a strange sense of comfort: both from him and from her. As if he were an almost-grown boy who still needed his mother's hugs once in a while.

"Bean...if you hadn't been there, if you hadn't put the brakes on the whole thing, it might have become even worse for that girl. They might have kept on beating her and doing...anything. They might have taken her somewhere she wouldn't be found and left her there to die. Were you the one who told them to drop her off in a place where someone could help her?"

Bean made a faint shrug. "I guess."

"You were a kid with no one looking out for you. They were the scum of the earth, and they were trying to teach you to be just like them. You didn't learn that. You've never learned that."

"I dunno." His arm moved out to encircle her, then dropped to his side. "I'm always going to remember that I joined in. It's always ridin' along in my back seat..."

The bedrock of him, firm under her feet, warm and strong in her arms. "I guess it should. It's probably always going to stay there." She stepped back and brushed her hair out of her face.

"Yeah." He straightened and looked down at her. She wished she could see his eyes. "No one ever said doin' the right thing was going to be comfortable."

"That's so true it's not funny. There's one more thing you ought to take into consideration, though."

"What?"

"You weren't fifteen in 1983. You were thirteen."

"Shit, that's right." Bean shook his head. "Thirteen?"

"So can't you chalk at least some of it up to youth?"

He shook his head again. "Not all of it."

"Well, I suppose only babies can get away with anything."

He snorted. "Mostly 'cause they can't do anything anyway."

Rally laughed with a shaky overtone, her stomach finally untwisting from its knots. She fished a tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes, then blew her nose. How she had kept from sobbing outright she had no idea. But she was glad she hadn't inflicted that on him.

"Vincent…" Bean began.

"I forgive you. Not on that girl's behalf—that's not in my power. Only God can do that, I think. You're going to have to ask that on your own."

"Yeah?" He looked up at the stars. "Think I did that already. Lots of times."

"You don't believe you've been forgiven?"

"I dunno. I felt like I had to earn it somehow."

"By beating up anyone you saw doing the same thing? Bean, don't you know what forgiveness means? It's something you don't earn but that you receive anyway. If you had to buy it, it wouldn't be forgiveness; it would be a business transaction."

"Huh." Bean scratched the back of his neck. "Guess I like to keep the scales even."

"But that doesn't work with something you can't pay back!"

He laughed with cynical humor. "Most things you can, darlin'. One way or another." The path lay a little way from them, and Rally followed Bean when he turned to walk in the direction of the car.

"Oh good grief." She laughed a little—there was his philosophy in a nutshell. "It all comes down to money for you?"

"Not everything."

"You know, Pete Smith said something. Right after you had come back to life in the hospital. He asked if that didn't wipe the slate clean."

Bean grunted, inquiring but not derisive, and Rally continued, frowning in thought, trying to pierce a veil she had once thought she saw through, if only for a moment. "Maybe that's what…I…I asked if you could have a second chance. While I thought you were dead."

"Another chance?" Here under the trees he was almost invisible to her.

"I wasn't thinking about another chance at life. Just a chance to ask for forgiveness, before…that was all. Before it was too late. I thought…that you were capable of that."

"Like how I asked you to forgive me?"

"Maybe. Somehow I got a lot more than I asked for, I think. Bean…where were you while you weren't breathing?"

"Dunno." He wandered a little farther ahead on the path, though he didn't seem to mean it as a brush-off. "Dreaming, I think. Old dreams I used to have."

"It seemed like you were in the past while you were delirious."

"Yeah, I guess." He chuckled in the dark. "Probably blabbed about all kinds of stuff, huh?"

"Some, yes. But as far as I'm concerned, the slate _was_ wiped clean, OK? I'm glad you felt able to confess…that…to me, and I promise I won't keep looking in that back seat—blaming you for your past, I mean. When I think about what O'Toole and his friends might have done to me, you look as innocent as a newborn baby."

Bean fell silent and remained thoughtful for a while as they neared the car. She noticed something moving around it and tugged on Bean's sleeve. He stopped with her just under the eaves of the trees and looked.

Two men were examining the Corvette, one holding a flashlight. They certainly weren't cops. The man with the flashlight climbed in and started trying to pry a panel free from the dash.

Rally drew her CZ75 and got her tactical light out of her purse. "But it's your car, of course, so after you." She gestured with the muzzle of her gun.

Bean chuckled quietly. "Ladies first."

"Now honestly. Do you see any _ladies_ around here?"

"If ya put it that way, then I guess not." He chuckled again. "Just as well."

They walked forward; the car thieves spun around at their approach. The one behind the wheel aimed the light at them. "Hey, fuck off if you know what's good for you!"

Rally leveled her gun and clicked on her own high-power light, which made the flashlight look like a match flame. "Nope, don't feel like it."

The thieves shielded their eyes. "Hey, bitch! Turn that fucking thing off!" The one behind the wheel jumped out and drew a knife, trying to dodge the bright white beam. Rally tracked their every move with both gun and light. The steady green dots of the luminous sights tracked along with them.

"Gosh, this is such a nice new toy." She giggled while circling to keep them in view. "Thanks, guys! I was just itching to see how these cool night sights test out under field conditions."

"Call your dibs, sweetheart." Bean cracked his knuckles. "I'm gettin' impatient here."

"Oh, I'll take the guy with the knife. I promise not to damage that gorgeous car, but I'm afraid a little blood and gristle may get spattered on the finish when I blow out his kneecaps. What do you want to do with yours? Break his legs, or fracture his spine?"

"I dunno. Let's see what I feel like when I get my hands on him." Bean chuckled. "No, I got it—I'll break his legs, then I'll throw him up in the air as far as I can, and you see if you can plug him before he hits the ground."

"Ooh, I like your way of thinking. Extra points if I call the shot?" She flicked off the safety.

The thieves dropped the flashlight with a smash and ran for it.

Bean and Rally got into the Corvette together, laughing in comradely fashion, and Bean drove out. "Penny for 'em," she said when they had reached the main road and she could see Bean's thoughtful face in the streetlights.

"Innocent as a baby, huh?" He smiled to himself.

"Well, that was just a metaphor."

"Naw, I was thinking about those dreams of mine."

"What do you mean?"

Bean made an odd face, as if he wasn't sure himself. "Well, ol' Coleman picked me up out've that parking lot, I guess. Some assholes dumped me like trash, or maybe I ran off 'cause they weren't treatin' me so well. But before that." He paused. "That's when somebody took care of me, when I was a baby. Kinda hard to imagine..."

Rally felt a peculiar warmth steal through her. "Somebody?" She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn't clam up. But something in him seemed to have thawed entirely, if only for the occasion, and she could feel no barrier at all between them.

"You said somebody adopted me right after I was born."

"Yes. Bean...I have Brown's file on you."

"You do? How the hell'd you get it?" Bean stared at her and made a right turn without looking at the road.

"He gave it to the FBI, and...uh...May and I stole it from them."

He smiled in genuine amusement. "You read it? Then you already know what some paper-jockey in the state kid warehouse named me."

"Uh, I guess…but you're right. That's not your real name."

"Huh?"

"Your parents would have named you first. Your adoptive parents."

"Parents?" There was an odd tone to that. He wasn't about to blow up at her for venturing on the subject the way he had at Brown, was he? "What's that thing got in it about…them?"

"Well…there was a picture in there...of a woman and a baby. She's holding a baby boy."

"...Me?" Bean had trouble getting the word out.

"I don't know for sure. There wasn't any information with the photo. But the baby has black hair and he's big and husky. He looks happy."

"Could be me, huh?"

"Well, it is in his folder. It seems logical...that it is you. Bean, you know...when we get back to my hotel, come up to my room, and I'll give that folder to you. There just isn't any point in anyone else having it."

"Thanks," he said, with a smile that threatened to disintegrate into something else. "That's solid of ya."

"It's nothing."

"Lot more than that, Vincent. Somethin' like...a piece of my memory. Some of my life that I don't know about. That's a thing anybody'd want to have." He stopped at a light.

"Do you have any memory...?"

"You asked me that once before."

Yes, she had, and he'd told her to stay out of his head. "Sorry...I don't mean to..."

"It's OK. I thought about it since then. You got me started thinkin', and I do remember something...or else it's a dream I had again. I'm not sure."

"Will you tell me? Maybe I can confirm something."

"There was a woman..." Bean began. "Naw, it's not a memory. It's just a feeling."

"What feeling?"

"She held me...she picked me up out've my bed and took me downstairs and gave me something to eat. She was kind of sad, but she smiled when she was around me."

"Sad?"

"Yeah. Like, slow and tired, and when she smiled at me I knew she was happy, but there was somethin' sad about her that never really went away."

"Was she sick?" Rally's voice was small and almost whispering.

"Maybe. I'm just a tiny kid in this dream, or whatever it is. I don't know from nothin', but I can feel what she's feelin' like she's inside my head. I can see her too—her face. I think her eyes were blue." He smiled as if he had found something precious he had misplaced for a long time. "She sang to me...yeah, I was in her lap and she was rocking her chair and singing. Somebody came and took me off her because I was too heavy for her to lift any more."

Rally put a hand over her mouth. The light changed and the car moved forward.

"I dunno. It's all run together into one thing. Like one day, but it's got to be months. I know she got sadder and stayed in bed all the time. I crawled up in the bed with her and I fell asleep. When I woke up she was gone. Nobody told me where she was and I was too little to ask." His mouth worked oddly, a silent call to someone who didn't answer. "She didn't come back."

The lump in her throat was difficult to speak around. "That doesn't sound like someone who beat you and abandoned you."

"Sound like anything in that folder?"

"Your adoptive mother died from cancer when you were two and a half years old." Rally started crying, suddenly, sharply, and Bean looked at her in shock.

"Hey there, woman! What'd I say?"

"Not...not your fault," she gasped into her hands. She pulled her face back under control and rapidly wiped the tears away. "I just got sentimental all of a sudden—sorry."

"Gettin' sentimental over _me_? Things are lookin' up." Bean chortled, and Rally blushed.

"Um...oh...I just...well, I think you're on to something. The woman in the picture has dark hair, and it does look like she has blue eyes—it's in black and white. You'll just have to look at it." They pulled into the hotel's parking garage. "Do you really want to leave your car here?"

"Ahh, it's just for a few minutes. Fuzz won't make me that quick, not in this podunk town." He grinned, parked the car and went to the elevator with her.

* * *

Bean took the folder from her as if it would burn him. "You read it, huh?"

"I skimmed it. I wanted to corroborate the things Brown told me, but aside from that…well, I guess I was already thinking of it as yours. Some of it seems pretty obscure. If you study it maybe you can add it all up. I think a lot of what Brown found out he never wrote down."

"Figures." He opened it gingerly and laid it out on her table. "Where's that photograph?"

"The mother and child?" She flipped through the contents and found it.

Bean picked it up reverently, holding it in both hands as if it were fragile. "Dunno if that's me. Babies all kind of look the same." He put it flat on the table to study it.

"Well...now that I look at it again..." It was him. No question about it. Something about the set of the features, the strong personality budding in the robust little body. Rally put a finger to her lips, a tremulous smile forming.

Bean touched the baby's face with one finger, then moved it to the woman's hair. For a long time he said nothing, staring at the mother's face with the look of a lost child. Rally moved a few steps away and looked out the window.

What was it about this photograph? The mother's obvious love, or the fact that it had only existed for a little while after the picture had been taken? The baby's happy trust in her love, his expectation that it would always be like this, his life filled with cuddles and kisses and meals and toys? How cruelly that child had been disappointed.

Tears threatened again and Rally shook her head to suppress them, not knowing for whom she wanted to mourn. A child who no longer existed? An adult who barely recalled feeling real love for another human being? He remembered his mother, somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind and heart, and now he could learn what her name had been. He had a photograph of her face.

Finally Bean closed the folder and put it back in the zipperlock bag. "Thanks, Vincent. You…you're a good pal, you know that? A hell of a lot better than I deserve." He sighed and tucked the folder under his arm.

"Oh, bullshit." She smiled at him. "You said once…you didn't want to know this stuff, if it came from Brown."

"It don't come from him. He didn't make it and it wasn't his to give. Nothin' he bought with his dough was his for real, though he did his best to get his sleaze all over it and make it like it was his. You're the one's giving this thing to me now. That makes it as clean as clean."

"Oh…now, I'm no angel, Bean. You just told me that in no uncertain terms!"

"You don't got to be any angel. All you got to be is Rally Irene Vincent."

Something rose in his eyes, so quickly there and gone that she had no time to evaluate it. It occurred to her again that she had no photographs of Bean, that indeed she had never even seen one aside from the unrecognizable face on his false driver's license. The closest thing she had to a picture was the composite drawing stuffed in her suitcase, and there was nothing in the eyes on the paper that she had not put there herself.

If his eyes would only speak for his soul…and if she could somehow catch the expression before he suppressed it. He didn't even know he was doing it, did he? An automatic guard against exposing any possible weakness...

"Guess I better split, huh? Gettin' late and you haven't had your dinner."

"I guess so. But I'm not hungry at all, not after that lunch, so I don't think I'll go out or anything…"

He didn't take the hint, heading through the entryway and opening the door. "Figure I'm goin' back home tomorrow bright and early. Hit the highway for the mountains and head straight into the sunrise for a while."

So they wouldn't meet along the way. She had spun an idle fantasy about an encounter on the road, maybe somewhere in the Midwest, stopping at the same motel by chance. May wouldn't be traveling with her any more, and she would offer to share her room with him and then replay that whole scene, but with a different ending. Well, that wasn't going to happen now…

"So are we." Rally trailed after him into the entryway. "I mean, we're leaving, but we're going south, of course, and I was thinking we'd leave this evening, but I don't know. It keeps slipping later and later. Maybe I'll just, um, sleep over one more night." Her cheeks warmed, her heart fluttered. Please let him ask me, right now, let him hold me and kiss me and say that he—

Bean paused just outside her room with his hand still on the doorknob. "Yeah? Well, there's something I guess I still got to do before I go."

"What's that?" Rally leaned against the door frame a few feet from him, praying for the courage to ask him to stay a little longer. A little longer was much the same thing as asking him to stay all night…and what would he think? He might even refuse. How did you tell a man he was welcome without making it look like either a tease or a demand? She'd never wanted to know so badly. Bean had seemed so reachable and open, even vulnerable, while he told her his memories. Give him the refuge he needed, the corporeal love he wanted, and soothe her own longing for him. After that, who knew?

"I got an obligation to pay off. To you."

"Hmm?"

Bean looked down, then up. "I owe you something important. You gave it to me and it's gone now. You know what I mean. I can't give it back to you. But maybe I can make it up in kind. I still got a debt in regard to you and I don't like carryin' debts."

Rally flinched and held up a hand. "Please, not that one again. It was bad enough when you were bleeding to death! Don't talk to me as if you owe me _money_!"

"I owe you some respect, Vincent. Don't slam it!"

"Respect?"

"Damn straight. You got a helluva lot more honor than I showed you, and that's still eatin' me. I tried apologizin', but it ain't ever come out right. Figures, since I went wrong the first time runnin' off my mouth. You said you forgave me, but I didn't earn that nohow. One more thing to wipe off that slate before it's clean." Bean wedged his hip against the open door and folded his arms.

"Is that…why you stayed in San Francisco so long? Even after you had paid off every cent of the money you owed me and nearly been killed helping me out? Because…"

"Well, sure it was." He shrugged as if this should be obvious. "Like you said, it can't get settled in money. An' I know you still got that thing on my tab. You taxed me with it just last night."

"I did?"

"You that drunk when you said it? You'd lost something and you couldn't give it to the guy who wanted to marry you. What the hell else did ya mean?"

"Um…uh…" Oh, nothing in particular. Only her heart. How much did that weigh on his scales?

"Look, I told ya I wanted to pay this whole thing off. Doesn't seem to me like that's taken care of yet, no matter what I've done. That's just 'cause I haven't done the right thing. I always knew how I was gonna have to do it, I guess. I tried before and you weren't having any of it. No wonder, 'cause I didn't go about it right and I didn't explain my intentions. So I'm askin' you straight out to let me take care of it once and for all."

"How, exactly?"

"In kind, like I said. Let me...do it again, and do it right this time." He nodded into the room and towards her bed. "I promise you, I'll pay off that debt."

Bean's expression, cool and businesslike, betrayed nothing that acknowledged what he had just proposed.

"_What_?"

"C'mon, Vincent. I got to spell that out?"

She snapped her head up and stared him right in the eyes. This was just a gambit, wasn't it? He couldn't possibly mean this the way it sounded!

He tilted his face and raised his brows at her. The unconscious barrier he'd lowered for a little while separated them again like a wall of steel; Bean had regained his equilibrium and simultaneously his full professional armor. All vestige of vulnerability was gone as if it had never been.

Rally's mouth opened and closed for a few seconds before she could speak. "Let me…get this…straight." Her voice was a high squeak. "Because you took—no, because I _gave_ you my virginity, which is not much more than a negative state anyway, and because you said a few nasty things regarding the act immediately afterwards, you think you still _owe_ me something? And this peculiar sense of honor you cultivate can only be appeased by making lo—by having sex with me again in such a way that I won't hate you...when you leave. Is that it?"

"Close enough."

"But…but…you don't…" Her throat closed. That was it? A handshake deal over her body? Compensation for a fragment of broken tissue? "You don't want…?"

"What?"

"Any reason at all that I should agree to this..._exercise_?" Rally felt her face turn hot. God, she'd been ready to melt into his arms! "Seems to me that the main person to benefit from it would be YOU. You've got this nagging sense of guilt you'd like to get rid of, and as one minor point in the transaction, you'd get to sleep with me."

"Well—" Something might have been trying to struggle to the surface under Bean's air of self-command, but she was too upset for analysis.

"So where do I sign? Do we need it notarized? Should my lawyer go over the contract to see if there are any clauses that mention MY feelings?"

"You tellin' me you don't feel it too?"

"Feel what?"

"Kind of a black cloud followin' me around ever since it happened. I think you're standing under it too. I know it's there because I can feel it, and because I can see it when you look at me."

"What are you talking about?"

Bean shrugged in a significant way. "You're picking fights with me on purpose? Don't want to tell me something you were workin' on for a week? That's what I'd call something hanging over yer head, darlin'. You want it to take up permanent residence?"

Rally blinked at him. "...No."

"Then let me get rid of it. Chase those clouds away."

"You're the weatherman, huh?"

Bean smiled crookedly. "I know which way the wind's blowin'."

"All right, maybe I see your point. But I don't think your solution is an ideal one. There's a few too many things that could go...wrong."

"Wrong?" He straight-armed the door a little wider open and kept his palm jammed against it, looking insulted. "Don't go telling me you didn't like it. I know that's a lie."

"You know perfectly well I liked it." Rally clamped her thighs together and quickly glanced away. "It's the conditions around it I'm having a little trouble…negotiating."

He cocked a brow at her with the ghost of a smile. "I wasn't thinking about doin' it in the damn car."

"Did you have to bring that up?" She made a face at him. "I was just getting to the point where I don't smell you every time I get into the driver's seat."

"You been thinking about it?"

"Of course I have."

"Yeah?" His eyes dipped as if he was reluctant to release what was in them. "What do you think about?"

"Oh...uh, I don't know."

"Maybe you think about...kissin' me?" Bean looked up at her under hooded lids. His mouth twitched. Rally felt a quick hot pressure in her face and groin. "Maybe you think about the way you grabbed me and wouldn't let go. Maybe you think about how good it was, once I made up my damn mind." He moved towards her and backed her into her room. The door swung shut behind him with a heavy thud.

She bumped into the table, halted and looked up at him, her eyes huge. "B-Bean?"

What had just broken through that professional carapace? What was he about to do?

Nothing, apparently, because he checked himself and made an apologetic gesture. "Sorry. That's not what this is about, is it? It's about makin' good on a debt." A quick sharp grimace crossed his face and vanished.

"I told you, I don't see it that way. It's not necessary and I wish you wouldn't bring it up again. That's not what sex is all about."

"Oh, yeah, darlin', you're an expert." Bean looked mildly amused. "It gets used for a lot of different stuff, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I guess I have. This particular use has got to be unique."

"Hey, I'm not gonna try to pull something on you here, if that's what you don't like about it."

"Pull what on me?"

"I told you before, I'm not askin' for another chance. I'm talking just one time, see?" He held up an index finger. "That's it. No strings attached or nothin'. Do it proper once and get the whole damn thing out of our systems, ya know?" Bean let the folder fall on the table and spread his hands with an inquiring air.

"I don't...think so." Rally gulped hard. No strings attached? He believed that was possible? Maybe for Bean Bandit it could be...

"OK, I'll drop it if you say so." Bean shrugged as if the outcome didn't matter much one way or the other. "You have another idea?"

"About how to expiate your sins? Sorry, that's a little beyond me."

"So you don't mind? You're not gonna be remembering what I said every time you look at me?"

"Bean, I'm not quite that sensitive to insults, OK? Even when I deserve them. Didn't I prove that today?" She extended her hand. "Call it square and shake on it. I hope we can just be friends now?"

"Well, sure. That's what I mean." He took her hand and gave it a firm clasp. "Friends—I like the sound of that. How about...partners?"

"That was temporary." Rally dropped Bean's hand. Where was this going to lead? Probably to more than just a business proposal; this didn't feel much like a genuine change of subject.

"You're gonna be out your regular partner in not too long, ya know. That little gal's gonna pop by Thanksgiving. You going to go it alone?"

"I don't know. I haven't made plans."

"I got one for you. Stick with me. I think we got a lot of the bugs worked out." Bean gave her a bantering smile; she blushed. "Just keep in touch. You can even move in with me—I got lots of room."

"Huh?" Live together? He hadn't given up yet, not by a long shot. "What basis of cohabitation are we talking about? You do recall that I have a perfectly nice house of my own?"

"So rent it out or somethin'. Let that gal—what's her name, Misty?—let her run yer gun shop and take care of the joint. There's plenty of vacant apartments in my building. You take some of 'em and fix up a place for yourself. I'll help ya knock out the walls and whatever. Be nice to have a neighbor."

"Oh...I don't...no, Bean. I can't, and you know it. It's just not possible." Apparently he'd thought this gambit out in detail too. Living in adjacent quarters and working together every day? If that wasn't a business arrangement with conspicuous side benefits, she'd never heard of one.

He looked down again, chewing his lip in thought, then looked up sharply. "OK, I know what it is, huh? It's because I said I'd kill you, ain't it? And I told you it was according to the rules."

"Isn't it?"

"I guess it is…if rules are all you care about." A sudden, satisfied light broke over his face.

"But—"

"I'm apologizing for that now. I shouldn't've said it—both 'cause I should've known better that you weren't a thief, and 'cause...hell, what kind've rule is that? Kill someone for money? Don't think I'm real fond of people who do that on a routine basis." He shrugged, not quite with contrition, because his expression filled with anticipation. "There you go. Let's be partners, Vincent. I promise you, I won't ever let you down."

"Bean..."

"Didn't think I'd ever admit I was wrong, did ya?" He smiled half-diffidently, apparently bursting with self-congratulation but attempting to keep a lid on it. "I ain't that small."

"I know you aren't. But—"

"OK, great." He rubbed his hands together. "Let's go catch a little dinner. Drink to it, and maybe—hey, you want to ride back to Chicago with me? I'll ship your GT-500, and you can put the squirt on the plane to L.A. That oughta work out just—"

"No," Rally managed to say. "Stop it."

"Huh?"

"Bean, I can't be your partner. Going into business with you would be my worst nightmare."

All the happy expectancy drained out of his face; she had to take a deep steadying breath to keep a firm gaze into his eyes. "Huh? What's the hitch now?"

"Once I take a step like that, I won't ever be able to go back."

"I ain't gonna burn my goddamn name on your chest, Vincent! What do you think I am—some kinda monster?"

"No. I know you're a...not a bad person, somewhere under it all, but you're not the kind of operator I can ever hook up with. I know I've sometimes been a little careless with it myself, but you have no respect at all for the law—that's just a word for _other_ people's rules. If I crossed that line, I'd be what you are. A criminal."

"Hey! Criminal? I ain't nothing like Brown, or O'Toole!"

Rally put her fists on her hips. "You want to tell me about some of the jobs you did in the last ten or twelve months, Bean? No, really. Give me an idea of just what it is you do that you don't think makes you quite as bad as a couple of the worst human beings I've ever encountered."

His face twitched and he looked away.

"Go on. If we were partners, this is exactly what you'd be asking me to plan with you and come along to ride shotgun. I want the job description."

Scanning his eyes back and forth, he seemed to be compiling a list on the fly. It looked as if he'd rather not mention most of the items he was totaling up. "Well…uh…" Suddenly she saw another thought cross his face—his eyes lit up. "OK. Let me tell you about a run I did last January."

"Oh? This looks like something you're proud of."

"You remember that big storm that hit right after New Year's? Smack in the middle of it, I got a call from a doc I know. Real crappy night. Snowing like hell. Not much was flying in or out of any airport from Minneapolis to Pittsburgh and not a lot could move on the roads either. Except me, of course." He lifted his eyebrows at her and grinned.

Rally laughed and groaned at the same time. "It would be just like you to go tooling around in the snowstorm of the century! Of course I remember it. I was stuck in the house for two days."

"Yeah, that one." Bean nodded. "So when the doc called me, I went to a hospital and I picked up a cooler to take to another hospital, in Michigan. Chicago to Detroit in a freakin' blizzard at two in the morning. There were spinouts and rear-enders every mile or two and even the cops and the tow trucks were going in the ditch. Nearly wiped out myself a couple of times. But I had to get that cooler there in under six hours or it was all for nothing." He gave her a glance full of suppressed glee. "You getting what that was, Vincent?"

"An organ for transplant, you mean."

"Yeah. A new heart for an eight-year-old kid." He nodded at her with a brilliant smile. "I got it there in four hours, twenty-six minutes, and I did it free. The doc forwarded me a thank-you letter from her mom and dad, and the kid drew a picture of a car for me and put pink hearts an' flowers all over it. I'm gonna get 'em framed."

"Wow." Rally couldn't help but be impressed; that was a two hundred and fifty-mile trip and she knew he wasn't embroidering his account in the least. What really gave her a lump in the throat was Bean's expression: he looked practically radiant.

"I'd be pretty proud of that one too..." She swallowed and found her voice. "You know what—you haven't mentioned that emergency blood donation that made you pass out while driving, or how you helped get my father out of Goldie's clutches, but I'll put all of those on the right side of the balance sheet." Her heart rose somewhat. She'd known he had this kind of generosity in him. "What are some jobs you'd do in an average month?"

His satisfied air yielded to neutrality. "Well, I carry plenty of stuff that's small and expensive. Coins and gems and bundles of cash. They know I won't skim the load like most drivers, so I get the real valuables."

"Stolen goods, you mean."

Bean shrugged. "If they're hiring me in the first place, it's not like they're callin' around for the lowest bidder. With me, you get the best, and that means I don't open the packages and I don't get curious about stuff that's not real important."

"I suppose in your line that's what passes for honest business practices. How about passenger runs? I assume you have plenty of those."

"Yeah, I take lots of people across the state line or to Canada. Sometimes all the way to Mexico. Generally I pick up troopers on my ass, so that's pretty entertainin' work. Sometimes these guys are people you're lookin' for." Bean smiled half-heartedly when she made a small sound of exasperation. "Hey, they're always scared out've their skulls when they know Rally Vincent's on their tail."

"I'm so glad I've helped to drum up business for you. Anything else you'd like to mention?"

Suppressed annoyance emerged in his manner. "The bank jobs and the prison breaks are the worst clients I get. There was a pair of scumbags a little while ago that wanted me to drive them all over hell and then decided they weren't gonna pay for the ride once it was done. Tried to hold me up and they're regrettin' it now." He gestured at her. "See, that's why I need someone watchin' my back. If there were two of us, lots've problems would get solved right off the bat."

"Yes, I see your point. Vlad and his late colleague probably operated on the same principle."

Bean rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, if all you want to do is take shots at me, I get the picture already."

"I'm not sure I have the picture, though. Bean, it's not you I'm taking shots at. It's your work. They're not the same thing."

"What do you mean?" He looked suspicious and even somewhat offended. "I've been in business ten years. Every racket from here to New York knows the Roadbuster. I got a rep I spent a long time and a lotta work building up, and if that ain't what I am, I don't know what is."

"Don't you?" Her voice trembled a little. "I know you deserve that rep, Bean. When I've been in a jam, you've done wonders just to help me. No one else could have done as much. But isn't there anything else about you that you think is important?"

The quaver was pretty obvious now; she swallowed hard and looked away for a moment. Bean took a different stance, his weight on one leg and his arms akimbo, and frowned.

Where had the real man gone when he'd closed the door on her? He was capable of lowering the barrier, and she ached to reach him again. Rally held her hands out to him, her palms turned up. "No matter what kind of jobs you took, you'd still be the same person at heart. You don't need to prove that to anyone. Bean, I know who you are now. I...I could have realized that a long time ago if I'd just let myself—"

"Come on, Vincent! Skip the touchy-feely crap." Bean gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "Guess you've been hangin' out in freakin' California too long. I swear, yer startin' to sound like Brown."

"What?"

"A man is what he does, got that?" He pointed to himself. "All the rest of it's just words. Too goddamn many of 'em."

"You think I sound like SLY?" She was less angry than simply wounded. "Bean, I'm trying to talk to you about some things I think are really important. I wish I'd had the sense to do it weeks ago. Please, if you'll let me—"

"Look, I know how it goes. I got the morals lecture already. I'm just a freakin' mercenary. I'm a barbarian, I'm an animal—I'm a God-damned idiot, that's what I am." He cast a scornful look at his clothes. "I got jerked around so many times I forgot which way is up. If I had any brain cells left, I'd've blown back to Chicago weeks ago. Hell, I never would have left home!"

"Oh." Rally hung her head, quivering. Her throat was so tight that for the moment she couldn't speak. Was Bean just going to walk out on her? She edged over to a chair, gripped the back of it with trembling hands and sat down sideways on the seat so she could face the wall and not him.

Yes, she'd hurt him that much. She'd called him terrible names and dismissed his greatest concerns. This was nothing but payback for her own sins. Saying she was sorry wasn't going to wash away one harsh word she'd spoken, one misleading or downright unkind thing she'd done to him. Why on earth would he say that he didn't want to be rid of her?

But she wouldn't cry. She'd never cry in front of him again...

Behind her, Bean let out a long, unhappy sigh. He shifted, took a step towards her and backtracked. Then he sat down—the creak of the box spring told her it was on her bed.

"Ain'tcha going to chew me out, Vincent?"

She slightly shook her head without looking around.

"OK." He didn't sound like he thought he deserved it, but he seemed to be on his guard, as if she might now be trying to get into his head some other way. "So, uh, did you want to hear any more about the jobs? Y'know, Vincent, I don't mind hearin' what you think. You just give me your honest opinion, OK? Don't go lookin' to score points on me. It ain't that hard to accomplish. You, uh, you talk a little better than I do."

Rally turned around on the chair. Bean sat hunched over on the very edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. His face was neutral, but not frozen. Her heart eased somewhat.

"Bean...were you thinking that was one way I would help you? I mean, if we actually were partners."

"Yeah, maybe. I dunno. Some clients might think they can put one over on me 'cause I don't sound like I got a Ph.D." He emphasized his street inflection.

"I don't even have a college degree, Bean. And you're extraordinary at what you do—you know that."

"Yeah, but you know some stuff that's not my specialty."

"Oh. Well, maybe I do, but not through any fault of my own!" She gave a self-deprecating laugh and groaned. "My mother always insisted on tutors for every darn subject. I mean, literature and physics and history and music—those stinking violin lessons, God, I hated those—and algebra and geography and biology and civics and even lame-o deportment classes—really useful stuff, huh?" Rally rolled her eyes, and then caught Bean's glance.

He gave her a level but almost resentful stare for a moment and looked away. Too late, she realized what she'd just implied, and that it probably cut pretty close to the bone. Raw brainpower and experience counted for a lot no matter what you did for a living, and he had plenty of both. But when she made backhand brags about her erudition, the fact that he'd left school in the middle of eighth grade couldn't sit very well with him.

"Um…I mean…I'm sorry, Bean, I didn't intend to—" She was making it worse, as usual, so she lowered her head and cursed herself.

Bean heaved a put-upon sigh. "What I was sayin' was, if I told you about a couple of jobs I had not too long back, you could tell me what you're thinkin' about 'em. Just the facts. Like, if some client wanted these jobs done and we were thinking whether we wanted to do 'em or not. Whether anything smells funny to you."

"All right."

He paused a moment and seemed to consider. "About four months back, I got my biggest job so far this year—heck, one of my biggest ever. Took more'n a month off and on and I charged hazard rates, so I cleared more than a half mil on that one gig after expenses."

"Wow. Hazard rates run how much these days?"

"Three times normal. This one was kind of up your alley." He quirked his mouth. "You might've liked working that job for real."

"Oh?"

"It was loads of rifles and ammo and lots of other stuff. Shoulder-launchers, mines, anti-tank grenades, you name it. Millions of dollars worth. All of it got lifted from a bunch of National Guard armories—I'd pull the car through the gates and go straight to the storage warehouses. They'd have the goods waiting on dollies."

"Who had it waiting? Who the hell was ripping off armories?"

"My clients, of course." He looked at her with an air of stating the obvious. "I never met 'em. They did it all by phone and paid for the guards to look the other way and arranged for the guys to pick out the merchandise and load me up. Hey, I got my cash right on time for every delivery. That's all I wanted to know about 'em."

Oh, this was a big job, all right. "Bean...I think I would have asked a few more questions than that. Such as who they were and just how they managed to get past security. That couldn't have been just a matter of a few bucks slipped to guards—it had to have come from higher up."

"OK, I guess you would have. But hey, it went great. I got chased a bunch of times and I even got shot at, but that wasn't any big problem. Planned my routes careful and I always used the Buff. When the stuff was all together in a warehouse, I loaded up panel trucks and took 'em to the drop-off point. That was it. Nice efficient job—I'd have to say I'm kinda proud of that one too."

"But you're wondering what these people wanted with truckloads of American military ordnance. That sounds like enough hardware for a small army."

"Yeah, just about. The drop-off point was right near the docks. I guess it was going on a ship."

"Oh, my God." Rally's eyes went wide. "Once they'd sailed it up the Great Lakes, they could have taken it anywhere in the world."

"Well, sure they had something planned for that stuff." Bean looked a little sullen, as if he now regretted asking for opinions. "Otherwise it'd be pretty dumb to pay me that much money for fetchin' it."

"Like overthrowing a government, maybe? Or equipping terrorists? Holy _shit_."

Now he was downright defensive. "Or, y'know, maybe just sell it retail? Like how the squirt buys her frag grenades and detonators and stuff? Somebody diverted that stuff to the street or she'd never get her little paws on it."

"I suppose you're right about that. But I think May needs her little pineapples to have half a chance against people who can buy the big stuff you were so instrumental in helping to rip off. The Dragons' arsenal must have come from a source pretty similar to your big job...if not that exact one." Her heart suddenly pounded and her lungs felt constricted—maybe this wasn't such a good thing to mention. "I…I think you told me you saw the flash on the way over to the pier..." She seemed to feel the shock wave again and flinched.

"When Four hit the Coast Guard chopper." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I saw it. And you told me he'd been screwing around with a Claymore."

She couldn't reply; her eyes saw only flames and torn bodies, her brain echoed with explosions and screams. Hands clamped over her ears and her rapid breaths rasping through her nose, she hunkered down in her chair and clenched her teeth.

"Hey, what's up?" Bean rose to his feet, his voice filled with alarm. "Vincent?"

Rally raised her head with a gasp and looked straight up into his eyes. Yes, he had been there too. In the driver's seat just beside her. Behind him was a dark warehouse filled with smoke and blood. And fire. This time they weren't going to get out. 426 had returned as a demonic ghost and he had completed his revenge. This time they were going to die together...

Her terror must have been plain, because Bean instantly dropped to one knee beside her chair and put his arms around her.

The shock of his real, warm touch brought her halfway out of the nightmare. She closed her eyes and dug her face into his shoulder, breathing hard. Her hands clutched at his coat.

"Baby, tell me what's wrong?" Bean stroked her head and shifted a little nearer. "Something about that night, sweetheart?"

She made an inarticulate sound with her face buried. Most of the way out of it now, but her whole body shook. Dizzy from hyperventilation, but solid ground and safety was right here at her side. Rally grabbed Bean, wrapped both of her arms around his torso and pulled him as close as she could, choking as if she had breathed in a miasma of smoke.

"Don't leave me here. Please. Don't leave me..."

Bean's arms cradled her, slowly rocking her. His voice was low and husky. "Nothing's gonna hurt you with me around, Rally Irene. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Gradually her breathing slowed. She grew aware that she was holding him for dear life, that her nose and lips were pressed into his bare throat, that his embrace was subtly different than it had been when he had first touched her. Comforting, yes, but also caressing. His pulse beat hard under her cheek. Bean moved back and loosened his hold just enough to remove his chin from the top of her head and look her in the face.

He hadn't quite formed the intention, but it took shape behind his gaze while their noses almost brushed. Strong and hungry and a little gloomy. The longing, mingled with desire but going even deeper, that he never seemed to be able to put into words. Eyes focused on her mouth, Bean slowly angled his face. Although she was still quivering and the aftereffects of the terrible images had not quite faded, Rally realized he meant to move in and kiss her. Helplessly her lips parted for him; she let her head tilt back.

Bean stopped a couple of inches away with his eyes half closed. He hung there a moment, a conflict disturbing his brows and the set of his lips. Then he clenched his jaw, his gloom grew darker and he turned his head away. His arms relaxed and dropped.

She knew why—because by his strict rules this was taking advantage of her. He didn't want to mix consolation and sex again, and considering the outcome the first time he was probably right.

Bean settled back on his haunches and placed his hands on his thighs. "You OK, darlin'?"

"It's nothing." Rally sat up straight and tried to smooth her hair. "I'm still getting flashbacks sometimes, that's all. Sorry." She'd never been so grateful for Bean's iron self-control; a lesser man handed such an opening would have had her stripped and on the bed now.

"That's all, huh?" He still looked concerned, but stood up and put a hand on the back of her chair.

She took a few deep breaths and tried to get her mind back on topic. Thinking about Bean and beds—were they ever going to have a candid discussion about their feelings, or just keep having near-misses until there was another spectacular collision? How could she even get near the real subject again without having him slam the door on her even more emphatically? She longed for him, for a shadowy operator who didn't care who hired him for what kind of dirty work as long as he got paid. Almost any other man would have rotted through and through in ten years of such work. Bean? He stood above it all somehow, his own man in everything. That armor he wore had many purposes.

Her ankles locked together and her thighs pressed hard against each other. Rally closed her eyes; emotions roiled through her body and curled into a hot ball in her abdomen. Burning for him alone, stripped of any consideration but himself. This above all told her that her love for him was sealed. Nothing he told her about what he had done could make a difference any more.

But he wouldn't let her divest him of any part of his well-earned reputation. She could not accept him clothed in those garments. He would not come to her naked, so he wouldn't come at all...

"Vincent?"

She abruptly looked up at him. "So there was another job you wanted to tell me about? Sounds like you keep pretty busy even without taking drug work."

"I dunno. Business is up some lately, but I'm not anywhere near where I used to be on profits. My base expenses stay about the same and the drug runs paid more than most of this shit did." Throwing her a veiled glance, he stuck his hands in his pants pockets and moved a little way across the room. "You cost me plenty, darlin'. That's why I'm doin' more of the hazard stuff."

"You're doing lots of dangerous jobs to make up the difference?" So much for calming down; her heart thumped.

"You worried about me, Vincent?" Bean gave her a faint smile.

"Good grief, I know you can take care of yourself. But yes, I'd worry about something going wrong that wasn't under your control."

"Yeah, well, there's always that." He scratched the back of his head and ran one hand through his rumpled hair. It wasn't lying down at all by now; he looked almost as shaggy as he usually did while wearing his working gear and headband.

"What exactly do you charge hazard rates for, anyway?"

"Other than explosives? Well, the last work I did before Brown called me for his damn job, I collected a load of scrap. That's the one I was gonna mention."

"Scrap? You don't mean precious metal."

"Nope, it was mostly steel. Machines and parts."

"What's so hazardous about steel scrap? What did the client say about it?"

"He said it wasn't dangerous the way it was, so I didn't have to take precautions. He rode along on the run anyway, so I wasn't exactly worrying. Said he knew better than to go misleadin' the Roadbuster about a cargo and he'd rather just pay extra up front and not have me find something out later." Bean cracked a smile and sat down on the edge of the bed again. "Smart guy."

"Smarter than Gray, anyway...but that's a little weird, don't you think? Machine parts? What kind of machines?"

"Lots of different kinds. All of it was from closed-down factories and junkyards. The addresses were in Chicago and out east. Took a four-day tour of the Rust Belt in a trailer truck to pick it all up. He had a tool chest and an acetylene torch along and he'd cut gauges off rusty old rolling mills and pipelines, and some of the smaller stuff we'd cart off whole. Just junk, far as I could tell. Filled that truck as full as it would go."

Something about this bothered her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. "Gauges? So where did he have you go with this load?"

"Took it to a place he had—like a lab. I pulled the truck into a warehouse, and there was just one other guy there waiting for us. Not a hell of a lot of equipment there, but there was one room with a really thick glass window in it and a big-ass ventilation system attached. The client had to run over to a bank a few miles away to get the money to pay me. I knew he was OK by then—I didn't have to keep an eye on him. They look at me kinda funny in banks, anyhow. So I was waiting for him at the lab. The other guy put on a haz-mat suit and took some of the stuff from the truck into that room through a sort of airlock. He was in a rush to get started on something."

"What was he doing in there?"

"Well, the client came back with my money not too long after that. I checked it out and closed up the case, and I was leavin', and I took a look through the window on the way out. The guy in the suit had taken some of the gauges apart and he had some metal tubes lined up on his workbench. He took some powder out of 'em. Goin' sort of slow and cautious and putting it into a metal can with these long tongs. My client put on a suit too, and that's when I left. Seemed like even though they had to be real careful with this powder stuff, they needed to get the job finished fast and get the hell out of there." Bean frowned at her. "You know what a curry is, when it means something you'd use in a lab? I was gonna try lookin' that up, but I didn't get a chance."

"Curry?" Chills stiffened Rally's spine. Now she knew exactly what had bothered her about this. "Did they use that word?"

"Yeah, when we got to the lab. My client said something to the other guy about probably getting a couple hundred thousand currys out've the load. Don't think he was talkin' about spicy food, 'cause we didn't stop for take-out."

"You're right, Bean. A curie is a unit of radioactivity."

Bean clenched his jaw. "Yeah, I thought it had to be somethin' like that. When I looked through that window...I thought my eyes were playing tricks, but that shit looked like it was glowing." He frowned more deeply. "You know what that was?"

"Probably cesium-137—it's a radioactive metal, but it's usually a powder. Now that I think about it, a lot of industrial gauges use radiation for measuring and flow through pipes—all sorts of things."

"Well, damn. No wonder he told me he'd pay my highest rate right off the bat." He looked at his hand and closed the fist. "So when do I start glowin' in the dark?"

"The radioactive stuff is all sealed up inside the gauges, so until you open them up it's not dangerous. He didn't lie to you about that."

"Good for him. Then I don't need to go teach him any lessons before I mutate into Godzilla." Bean let out a small chuckle.

"Not by your rules, I guess. Though I think the US government might have a different opinion—you need a permit to have that stuff. Those gauges are supposed to be disposed of properly when you junk the machine, but that costs a lot and way too many people don't bother. I'm not surprised he located a lot of places where he could find what he wanted."

"He sure wanted a lot of it." Bean shrugged. "No skin off my nose. I got my cash." But he looked at her as if he knew something more was coming.

Rally felt almost sicker than when she had heard about that long-ago gang-rape. She put a hand to her throat. "Bean, I'll tell you more about that stuff if you want to hear it. But I'm not sure you do."

"Why? You figure it's for somethin' like a dirty bomb?"

"Maybe. If someone spread such a large amount of it in a populated place...it could be pretty awful."

His lips curled back from his teeth. "Quit hinting."

Rally took a deep breath. "There was an accident with a container of cesium-137, a dozen years ago. In Brazil. One of those radiation machines for cancer therapy got left in an abandoned clinic. Someone took the canister out and pried it open. The stuff was glowing blue. The kids in the neighborhood thought it was pretty. They played with it..." She lowered her head.

"Kids?" Bean stood up.

"They rubbed the powder on themselves. They passed it around to their friends. I don't remember how many of them died."

"What the fuck?"

"Bean, that stuff is incredibly poisonous. If you breathe it in or it gets directly on you, you'll probably die. In agony."

"Kids died just 'cause they played with it?" She glanced up at the rasp in Bean's voice; he had clenched his fists so hard his knuckles were ridged and white. "What the hell was that guy going to do with that shit?"

"God only knows. Maybe he's just a maverick scientist doing his own experiments and he didn't want to go through official channels to get his materials. I almost hope nobody finds out. But you don't need to tell me any more of this." Rally slumped back in the chair. "I think I'm getting a pretty good idea how a day on the job with you would go."

Deep disquiet passed over his face. He turned away and walked a few steps to the sliding glass door. A cool draft entered the room when he left the door open, went out on the balcony and leaned on the railing. City lights shone all around his dark outline. Apparently he needed some air, or some distance. She wasn't sure if he was actually thinking about the possible consequences of his work or only reacting to her dismay.

Rally put her palms over her eyes and exhaled hard. "Oh, God..."

"What?" Bean's tone was neutral.

She hadn't really meant that for his ears. "Oh…nothing. It's just…when I imagine what you could do with talents like yours if you applied them to something other than getting as much cash as possible in almost any way possible, I think I want to...well, never mind." She had been about to say 'burst out crying'. "I guess I know better than that..."

"You know better than to think I'd do anything different?" Bean turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, but stayed where he was.

She didn't correct him, because that was perfectly true. "If you've been driving straight ahead on the same road for ten years...I doubt you're going to turn off it any time soon." He'd keep going, all right. Then crash and burn at the end of that road, sooner or later. Bean had only put off the inevitable so far. One day his great strength and cunning would fail him; he wouldn't get away in the nick of time. Rally closed her eyes and put her hands over them again. When he hit the last obstacle in that road, who would mourn the Roadbuster?

"I said I wanted to hear what you thought, Vincent."

"What do I think?" She flung her arms wide and let them drop limp to her sides. "So you've squeezed in a little good-Samaritan work alongside all those jobs you apparently fished straight out of the gutter. Now I may not do everything pro bono myself and you're perfectly aware of what corners I tend to cut in the interest of getting things done—"

"If it weren't for ol' Coleman, you'd probably have done some time, sweetheart." Bean sneered slightly.

Rally sat up very straight and folded her arms. "Sure, that's not impossible. He's not the only person who's helped get me out of some pretty serious trouble. But you—you're a one-man pipeline for just about every kind of bad shit I can think of. When the Roadbuster retires, crime statistics in the Midwest are going to take a real nosedive."

"Naw." Bean gave her a sour grin. "Not much of that's gonna be on anybody's charts, 'cause I never got caught in the first place."

But to his credit, he had certainly grasped her logic; the line of his shoulders sagged and he let out a long, resigned breath. "Criminal? OK, whatever." He turned away and looked out at the night.

Rally rose and came to the open door. "That's the word for it, Bean." She didn't feel triumphant or as if she had proved a point at his expense. It felt like this came at the expense of both of them. She looked at her shoes and spoke quietly. "I put criminals in jail. I don't go into business with them."

"So," said Bean after another long silence. "You gonna put me in jail someday?"

"I don't know. If I have to try, I'll give it my best shot."

"OK. I got you. You ain't joinin' up with this particular piece of gutter trash." He stopped, stood up straight and stared at the dark sky. "So I guess a business arrangement ain't in the cards, but I got to mention—" He turned around. "I mean, what if—if we—" Bean stopped again, with a look emerging on his face that struck her very strangely. He didn't meet her eyes; he seemed almost unable to do so.

"One thing. Just one little thing I need to get cleared." With a distracted air, he headed back inside.

"What is it?" Rally moved away from the door to let Bean exit the balcony. "If you want to ask me a question, I'll do my best to answer it."

"Nah, it's nothing." He loosened his shirt collar, though it wasn't tight, and shut the door behind him. "Hell, it's settled…I dunno, it ain't going to stay where it's put." The latch clicked. He seemed to be thinking aloud, and walked past without seeming to notice her. "Where the hell's it gonna get put, anyway? Geography...my ass."

She followed him at a little distance and halted by the table—she had the impression that he wanted to leave now, and at the very least she meant to see him out. Should she try to stop him or not? Would he ever understand her distinction between the person and the profession?

Maybe he was right; maybe the Roadbuster and this tall, scarred, black-haired man with wide shoulders and a very big jaw were completely inseparable. She didn't want to pull him out by the roots even if the impossible could be done. His skill and audacity, his self-reliance and strength of mind: a law unto himself—those were him, those were things she knew she loved in him. Where could anyone draw a firm line in his being between the good and the bad?

Bean seemed even more conflicted than she was. Something odd certainly was operating on him, because he didn't head for the entryway. He wandered in a vague circle to the far side of the bed, stopped there for a moment and came back to the table, still muttering to himself.

"...never gonna know. Come on, ya moron. Get yer ass in gear, 'cause it's now or it's never." Picking up the folder, he stared at it and turned it over. "Yes…or no."

Rally shook her head in confusion. "Bean, are you talking to me or not, and if you are, what's it about? I don't have ESP."

"You want to know? Here." He threw the folder down on the table with a loud smack.

When she looked at it, startled, Bean took a step towards her, swiftly scooped his arm around her shoulders and yanked her around to face him. Then he clamped his other hand on her waist, pulled her right up against his body and crushed his mouth to hers. Not a gentle kiss or even seductive—rough, close to desperate. His arms trembled, his chest heaved.

Rally stiffened in shock. It was like being mauled by a wounded grizzly bear. The butt of her gun jammed into her ribs and left breast. Her lips almost split under the fierce pressure of his and she made a strangled protest in her throat. Before she could move or do anything else, Bean let go of her.

"OK, I guess I got my answer. See ya." He stuck the folder under his arm, banged open the door of her room and disappeared into the hallway.

"Wait a second!" Rally ran out the door after him before it shut. He didn't mean the debt, he didn't mean some side-saddle benefit of partnership, and the only thing that left was—

He halted, but didn't turn around. "Yeah?"

"That was an answer? What was your question?" Her mouth still felt bruised; she put her hand to her face.

"Seems pretty damn clear to me." Bean's tone was distinctly irritated. "What do ya want?"

"Some...some _discussion_ of this? Talk to me!"

"I'm not a talker, Vincent. I don't do things that way. Hell, ain't there been enough yap for one day?"

"This can't get resolved by any other means!"

"Can't it? Figure it just did. You don't want me kissing you. End of story."

"Bean, please!" She held out her hands to him, shaking. "How am I supposed to know if I want you kissing me if you won't talk to me?"

"Well, hell, woman, I know what I want without lookin' it up in the dictionary." He swung around to look at her, his face naked of either hope or calculation. "I want to hear you moanin' my name real sweet, that's what I want. I want to feel your sweat all over my skin and I want to get your taste back in my mouth. I want to be in you all the way and I want to know you like it. Not because you'd tell me so—though you could tell me all you want—but because I'd see it in your pretty face."

Bean shrugged with a resigned grimace while Rally trembled with incredible, unimagined responses. From him, that was a Shakespearean sonnet!

"I just want to screw you blind 'n' dumb, Rally Irene. Once more in my life before I die. Don't figure that's what you're wantin' to hear, but that's the score."

Her knees would hardly hold her upright; waves of heat softened her whole body and all of her most sensitive parts cried out for his touch. "You...you try just about any angle _other_ than simply kissing me and telling me you want me? What else do you think I want to hear? Dear God, Bean—"

"I dunno...begging, maybe. Fancy speeches and crap, and gettin' down on my knees and makin' promises and tellin' every goddamn lie in the universe if I could just cop a feel." Bean's eyes fixed on the ceiling, his expression uncomfortable and derisory. "I see guys doing that all the time. Go into any bar you like and it's all over any broad who's still got most of her teeth like fleas on a dog. It's bullshit. I'd rather drink alone."

"And they say romance is dead." Rally slumped and put a hand on her forehead, uncertain whether to laugh or weep.

"Aw, hell. I am not the romance type, Vincent. I ain't got the words."

She did have the words. Didn't she? He meant that she should speak for both of them? Then she would have to do it now, while her battered nerves still retained the strength she needed. Her heart raced, overflowing.

She only had to speak what she had suppressed so long, and the words would finally set them both free. What would he say to her in return? Ecstatic images leaped in her mind, painting perfect bliss in glorious hues. Small and muffled at the back of her mind, one part of her consciousness still asked inconvenient questions: how exactly was this supposed to work, again?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was this huge bright burning thing she had to reveal to him. Now.

"Bean...uh..." She covered her mouth for a moment, took her hand away. She was about to speed straight over a cliff with nothing to hold her up. But surely this time there wouldn't be a crash to the earth below. Instead she felt a floating sensation, as if she were magically lifting into the air. "Bean, I think I'm...I...I'm in love with you."

Rally squeezed her eyes shut. Then immediately opened them again, because she had to see Bean's expression.

Blank, then wide-eyed. "What...the fucking...hell?"

He didn't look overjoyed. He didn't even look happy. A wave of something like agonized temptation passed over his features. Then just agony. As if what he wanted most stood right before him holding out a promise of paradise—as a cruel taunt. Growing anguish, as if that paradise had just been snatched forever beyond his grasp.

Everything his face told her was quickly overwhelmed by another emotion—he gritted his teeth and his eyes blazed. "Aw, _crap_."

Her floating fantasies hit the ground with a tremendous smash. Rally jumped, almost panicked by the degree of his fury. "Bean?"

"So this is what it's all about. All the hot and cold, all the shit you like to toss my way. That's yer big secret? That's supposed to get me beggin' on my knees?" He leaned in closer, but he didn't look at all like he meant to kiss her. Stunned beyond comprehension, she stood absolutely still, her eyes wide open and turned up to his.

Bean jabbed a finger at her face. "Maybe you didn't hear me too good the first time. I said I was kinda tired of gettin' _jerked around." _

He wheeled and headed towards the elevators again.

"Bean. Please. I'm telling you the truth!"

"Like hell." He hit the elevator button hard enough to dent the metal panel around it. Then he slammed one hand against the wall and bent double. An arm clamped around his stomach as if he was going to be sick. "That's it. That's enough. That's a few truckloads more than enough. I'm done with you."

"Bean, I love—"

"Shut up! You're the last gal I ever thought would pull that shit on—" His voice choked off in a horrible rasping moan. Rally couldn't see his face, but she knew exactly what its expression was like. No matter what she did, she stabbed him where it hurt most. Silence and denial had injured him, she knew. But speaking was far worse. Another wound, and this one looked like the deepest yet. Why?

A chime sounded and a group of people came out of one of the elevators, talking loudly. Bean didn't move. Another passenger glanced at him with obvious trepidation, closed the elevator doors and sent it down.

Rally's legs felt unsteady and her insides roiled and cramped. She dodged through the advancing group and worked her way down the hall towards Bean. She paused at the corner of the wall and clung there, a little way behind him. He still hunched by the elevator panel; his back was turned to her.

"Why don't you believe me, Bean?"

His shoulders heaved. It was several moments before he spoke.

"You know some reason I should?"

She couldn't think of any. No rational man could have believed her; she kept on reaping what she had sowed. The group chattered by an open door. One or two of its members cast curious glances her way.

"All right, I deserve that. I'm sor—" She stopped and swallowed hard. "Can we please work this out in private? Come back to my room, and..."

"Don't you invite me in there unless you got your mind made up—about something. Anything. It don't matter what." His tone was viciously sarcastic, but again he was covering something else. "I'm not sure I'm gonna survive any more working it out."

"I...I do have my mind made up. But I want to talk to you...please, Bean?" She jammed a hand to her mouth and gulped back tears. "Won't you say anything about it? Won't you tell me how you feel about me? I've just told you how I—"

"Bullshit. Look, maybe you think—you don't got to pretend that's why you screwed me."

"What?"

Bean straightened up, but still kept his face turned to the wall. "That ain't the kind of gal you are, Rally. You don't got to think you can't jump into bed with a guy unless you say things like that. You didn't have any trouble requestin' me to do the nasty before. Don't go makin' up fairy tales about it."

"But I didn't know why I was asking!"

"Yeah, that's my point. This whole thing was just an accident, right? So stuff the how's-everybody-feeling garbage." He waved a dismissive hand at her and whacked the elevator button again. "I ain't doing jack-shit under false pretenses."

So she was inventing a fairy tale for her own benefit? Yet the mere mention of that silly fantasy nearly knocked the giant from his feet. Rally closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath that mixed pain and conviction. Bean must know exactly how he felt about her. He loved her. He had never denied that to himself even though he would never admit it. Because he believed there was no hope and never had been.

He had been dead right about that. Every time she gave him reason to anticipate some small return of his feelings, violent emotions as huge and powerful as he was, she destroyed it in the next stroke. He expected her to come to her senses soon and cut him open again.

Was there any point at all in repeating it? She wanted to say it again, over and over. Love of him filled her now. Her whole being ached for him; his distance from her was a physical pain. But every word she said seemed to drive him further away.

Rally came to Bean, put a trembling hand on his arm. He shook her off and backed away.

"What the hell are you doing? You know what I am. You just got through findin' that out, right?" He made a wide gesture with both hands, brandishing the folder. "You oughta know better'n this, and you do. You shouldn't be forgetting three times in a row that you don't want to fool around with a dirty hood like Bean Bandit. A woman like you ain't never gonna fall for me. Not in a thousand years!"

It didn't matter that he was a long way from an angel. Or that he couldn't bring himself to speak what she was increasingly certain he truly meant. It only mattered that he was himself.

"Maybe in a thousand...and one? Bean, it's me. Not anyone else. If anyone on earth doesn't deserve a man like you...it's me."

Bean stopped in the middle of the hallway. He looked upwards and his lips tightened in an apparent effort to keep his expression under control. "Just words. Words don't mean nothing." Again he turned his back on her.

"OK, maybe they're more important to me than they are to you. Maybe we don't really speak each other's language anyway. But I'm not asking you to say anything at all to me. Just, please, come back to my room."

He was silent for many seconds. The tension in his posture gradually eased by an almost imperceptible amount.

"If…that's…what you got to think…to get yourself in the mood or something, what the fuck, that's yer call. But don't you say one more word to me. Not unless it's understood that we're gonna make—that I'm gonna get laid."

Bean took a few deep, shaking breaths and spoke a little more calmly, even with a note of cynical humor. "I must've...fried all my brain cells...a long time ago. 'Cause I guess I'll listen to bullshit from here to the moon if that's what it takes."

Rally said nothing, but not for lack of wanting to. She covered her mouth with both hands to muffle a cry. If she could heal just one of the wounds she'd inflicted, maybe he'd forgive her. Whether she could forgive herself for so abusing his generous nature was another question...

"Just don't disguise the load as something it ain't." He turned halfway towards her and his voice almost cracked. "Don't try to play me like a freakin' violin and then take off for the other side of the country. Gimme the terms up front. Do the deed or don't."

The doors of the elevator opened. Bean faced her squarely and gave her a look: one last look, it felt like, and his expression had broken free from all control.

What was she waiting for? A message from God?

"All right, Bean. Fair is fair." She clapped her hands palm to palm and gripped them together. "Come in my room with me. I'll close the door, I'll say just a few more words, and then you are going to get laid. If you still want to."

The folder slipped from his hand and hit the floor. "You serious?"

"Yes."

He made a sudden move towards her, then stopped and gave her a skeptical frown. "For real? No second thoughts once I get going?"

"For real, Bean."

"OK." His expression wasn't very readable now, but he picked up the folder and followed her back down the hallway. The spectators had retreated at some point; that didn't surprise her. She got the key from her jacket to let him in and shut the door behind him.

Bean walked into the center of the room, paused, then laid the folder on the table once more and pulled out the chair. He had a wary air about him, as if he still didn't quite know what to make of this.

"So…you want me to pay attention, or just sit here and nod once in a while?" He checked his watch and sighed. "I guess talk ain't quite killed me yet, so maybe I can stand it for a little bit longer."

"Actually..." Rally still stood in the entryway. "I want you to come over here and kiss me." Bean looked up at her as she took off her jacket and holster and hung both in the coat closet. "Unless you have something to say to me first."

"Nope," said Bean, and took her into his arms.


	30. Chapter 30, Part One

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Thirty, Part One**

She'd expected somehow that she would end up flat on her back in ten seconds or less. Or for a variation, get half-stripped and taken up against the wall if they didn't quite make it to the bed. Not that she would have objected to either plan of action, exactly. She didn't intend to limit Bean's range of options in the least. But when he embraced her, for perhaps five minutes he only held her close and cradled her head against his chest.

Quiet, a sweet silence enveloping them both. Rally slipped her arms around Bean's waist and closed her eyes. Gradually they relaxed into each other, fitting the angles and curves of their bodies ever closer together, ever more at ease. Somehow they were making friends again: not as a dam against emotions that overtopped any such mild sentiment, but by exploring a new direction they had always steered away from until now.

The beat of Bean's heart throbbed in Rally's skull and his breath made a warm spot on her crown. Purely by contact, each of them felt out some deep inner rhythm in the other. With each pulse of that rhythm they let themselves synchronize further and reach towards some kind of harmony. The energy that had always been generated between them needed control and timing to reach its maximum power. Otherwise its explosions could only cause destruction and chaos. She didn't know what sort of engine could withstand such high-octane fuel and still move smoothly forward. Maybe they'd have to invent a new kind for their use alone...

A new vista opened out in Rally's mind, and she knew that Bean was in some sense seeing the same road before him. They might halt on the way, they might backtrack, but once having made the turn, that road would always be graven on the map never to be erased.

Her mind and body felt more and more awake with each passing moment, as if some part of her had been choked down for years. She would never be able to put it to sleep again.

Bean finally stirred and stood up straight, though he kept her in his embrace. "Lemme get this off."

He shrugged his coat down his arms, taking each one in turn so he didn't have to let go of her. It fell to the floor with a thump and a metallic clank of concealed knives. Rally liked that sound. She tilted her chin up and smiled at him.

"Would you like me to take anything off, Bean?"

He looked a little startled. "Hey, I'm not rushing you." His hands cupped her shoulders. "Nope. I said I wanted to do it right, and that's the way I'm gonna do it." The temperature of his smile went up. "So nothing's comin' off until you just can't keep it on any more."

With a warm quiver in her middle, she reached up and drew his head down. Bean closed his eyes just before their lips met.

Rally had a strange sensation when she kissed him; his mouth softened and gave, and she felt his teeth for a moment before he responded. She pulled back and looked at his face. Lids hiding his eyes, a quiet blank expression: he let out a sigh heart-deep. As if something had just come back to life in him, something that had almost bled to death. She pulled him closer and kissed him with tears stinging her eyes.

Their mouths parted, met again, pressing soft kisses on each other's mouths and faces. Bean seemed reluctant to do anything else for a while. He kept his lips demurely closed, though he held her against his lower body and rotated his pelvis into her abdomen. His hands smoothed her hair back from her face; he kissed her ears and cheekbones, then returned to her mouth. Always light and gentle, covering her face in a veil of kisses.

Rally sighed with growing delight; it seemed as if he meant to cherish every moment with her, draw this out as long as he could. Surprisingly, she felt a resonance of Larry Sam's loving touch; to find this sweet emotion in the arms of Bean Bandit was strange but wonderful. Raw passion they already had. Tenderness supercharged it with even greater power. Her head began to spin. She wished Bean would exhaust himself, fall asleep with her, wake up and kiss her again, just like this. Again and again, a wheel turning endlessly on an infinite road. Never any shorter, never reaching the finish, no matter how far they traveled together…

"Kiss me, baby," he whispered against her cheek. "God, I could kiss you forever." His arms tightened around her and something changed; his mouth took hers and demanded more. Rally hesitated only a moment, then ventured her tongue between his lips. He grabbed her so hard that she heard little cracking noises in her spine.

Bean eased off a little way, paused for breath and dove in again. No more soft, no more slow. He let out the brakes all the way and took her along for the ride. Intense, wet kisses now, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Rally's bruised lips felt exquisitely sensitive; they throbbed under Bean's while she returned every kiss from the depths of her body. Something vibrated deep in her pelvis. She gasped when he suddenly pulled back and licked her throat, then ran a sharp, light series of nips along the dampened swatch of skin and licked it again.

Even dizzier now: her knees buckled so that Bean's arms were a welcome support. With one hand he cupped and rubbed a breast through her top, thumb brushing over her twinging nipple. Moisture sprang between her thighs; she could feel her underwear cling in her groin.

While their tongues tangled and their lips slid in every direction, Rally went for the buttons of Bean's shirt and pulled them open. One popped off and shot across the room; she looked around to spot where it had gone, but Bean grabbed her chin and kept kissing her. Rally moved her hands around his waist, to the small of his back and downwards. She gave his butt a good firm grab just to make him wheeze.

Both of them panted hard now, heaved against each other, clutched at various parts of the other's anatomy just to keep standing. Kissing all the while, until Rally could barely breathe. No wonder he had started in a leisurely fashion—there was no way to slow down now. Her back bumped against the wall, which wasn't surprising when someone twice her weight pushed her in that direction. Bean's shirt fell open and she yanked it out of his pants so she could get her hands on his chest. The groan he let out when she touched him shook her to the marrow.

THE REMAINDER OF THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED FOR THIS SITE. Please look at my Livejournal to read the entire story. My username is madame(underscore)manga. Sorry.  



	31. Chapter 30, Part Two

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!**

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

**Chasing the Dragon  
by Madame Manga  
Chapter Thirty, Part Two**

Rally stirred her coffee. For several minutes she stared out the coffee shop windows at the sunlit street and the blue sky, clinking her spoon against the sides of the cup though the sugar had long since dissolved. She wondered where her Daddy was right now, and what he was doing.

After years of not knowing if he were alive or dead, she'd finally discovered him in the thrall of Goldie. She'd gone to great effort and risked her own and her friends' lives to save him. But he was barely part of her life even now. For no more than a couple of hours on each occasion, she sometimes saw him for a meal or a visit in a hotel room. Once in a while he called her, though he was wary of surveillance and always kept it short.

Rally sighed and took a drink of coffee with the spoon still in the cup.

She couldn't blame Daddy, not really; both the cops and the Mafia were after him. No one could shake a record like his. Even though nearly all of his victims had been gangsters and thugs, even though many of his crimes had been committed under the influence of Goldie's brainwashing, killing was killing. The very least he could expect, if he were arrested instead of assassinated, was a long prison term and probably a jailhouse hit attempt every day before breakfast. He would find no place where he could rest...

Whose fault was that? Her hand tightened on the cup and she removed the spoon. He'd left her of his own free will to do what he believed he had to do; he must have known he could never really come back to her. His chosen path was more important to him than anything else.

But she was his daughter. She had looked for him so long, and this was her meager reward: to know that he was out there somewhere, constantly on the run, always looking over his shoulder. He was alive, but what kind of life was that? How long could he stay alive under these conditions? She loved her Daddy; she wanted to see his face and hear the sound of his voice. Knowing he existed in the world was in some ways only a torment now that he could never be restored to her. All that struggle and heartache for so little...

"There you are! I almost didn't see you way back here. Hee hee! Figured you might still be in bed!" May plopped down on the seat beside Rally with a jaunty, teasing air and punched her in the arm. "Oh you girl! You got all naughty with him again!"

Rally flushed and looked around to see if anyone else in the coffee shop had heard. She'd chosen a corner booth for more reasons than huddling with her coffee and hiding her red-rimmed eyes.

"God, finally. It was meant to be!" May reached up to grab Rally around the neck and gave her a squeeze. "Sure sounded like both of you had a whale of a time!"

"Um…"

"Good grief, I lost count of the orgasms." May jumped up, bounced over to the opposite seat, propped her face on her hands and stuck out her tongue, laughing. The waitress came over with a smile and asked if they wanted the usual. "Oh, I was really wishing Kenny was here! You guys were way more entertaining than anything they had on TV last night, I'll tell you! Oh, how did the blowjob advice work out? Need any more tips?"

"May…" Rally gritted her teeth and indicated their audience. May giggled, but put a finger to her lips until the waitress had left with their orders. Then she leaned in with shoulders waggling.

"Don't worry, you'll lose that embarrassment quick. Then you'll really be able to let go with the screaming—and heck, at home you won't care who hears! He sure wasn't shy, so follow his example and you can't go wrong. You didn't tell me he was such a _communicative_ lover!"

"I guess I didn't."

"Not all men are that noisy, but it's sure fun when they are, because then you know exactly what sets 'em off. Boy, he's got energy to burn! Starting all over again at four in the freakin' morning? Did either of you actually get a wink of sleep? Told ya how it was for him—the earth moved when he was with you! Didn't I?"

"I guess you did."

"I am SO happy for you, Rally." May heaved a romantic sigh and pressed her clasped hands to one cheek. "Congratulations, you got yourself a genuine love machine. You lucky little pussy-cat!"

"Yeah." Rally looked down into her coffee cup. "So you got my duffel bags? We can pack the car and go as soon as you want. I need to check in at the Federal Building on the way and get my rifle out of storage, but that shouldn't take too long."

"What's with you? After a night like that, I'd be walking on air." May tilted her head.

"I just want to get on the road…OK?" Her voice broke.

"Uh-oh...I thought the red eyes were from lack of sleep...?"

Rally covered her eyes with one hand, trying to hold back the tears. "It was wonderful, May. I loved it. I even loved him. I admit it. I felt about him last night like I've never felt about anyone..."

"Of course you love him. I've known that for weeks." May put out a hand and touched her arm. "But...?"

"But we won't be together again. Ever."

"What?"

"He said…that was all he would ask for. Just once more. At least when he was saying it, that might have been what he thought he was asking. One more time and get it out of our—oh, God." She had to cover her face again. "Did he have any idea this would happen?"

"You tell me."

"Maybe he really thought he could climb out of bed, say goodbye and not look back. He's probably done it with lots of other women and I'd already given him plenty of reasons not to try for more than that. I think he was hoping, sort of beyond hope…that he could treat it like a temporary obsession. He tried to use up all the fuel that's been building up between us so the whole thing would burn itself out. Instead…we s-set each other on fire..."

"Where is he, then? He didn't just LEAVE?"

Their breakfasts came and the waitress refilled Rally's cooling coffee. She cradled the mug, trying to warm her hands. "He left before six. He's heading straight east. He'll be home in less than a week."

"But you said…that he was wrong about being able to say goodbye. How the hell did he do it?" May's mouth opened wide; she looked unreservedly appalled.

"I don't know. You know he's the toughest mother's son either of us has ever met, but I could tell how hard it must have been. I didn't make it any easier for him, but I shouldn't have done that." She looked into her lap, her voice high and trembling, and shook her head. "It was something he had to do. I had to let him go. We both knew that. There wasn't any way to make it b-b-better..."

"Rally—you can't let this go. You just can't. It would be a crime to try to put that fire out. It would be like murder!"

"I…I have to. Don't you see?" Rally started to cry in earnest. "I love him too much to be with him. If this kept happening, if he really were mine, if we were lovers and lived together and everything, I would let it take me over completely, and—he was right, that's all. That's why it has to be the last time."

"Why? I have to admit I am not getting this."

"Because I would lose myself in him. I would lose all my independence and whatever morals I have left. I would start to condone what he does because he was my lover. I m-might even start doing those things myself..."

"Uh...and the problem with that is...?" May threw up her hands with an incredulous air. "Geez, it's not like he's transporting drugs!"

"Oh, May, the drugs weren't even close to the worst of it!"

May blinked. "They weren't?"

"He told me exactly what his work is like now that I've made him stop hauling nose candy. I thought I was so clever. I thought I'd really accomplished something." She wept into her hands.

"Helping him quit the drug trade wasn't an accomplishment? But, Rally—"

"That didn't do any good at all! He's still involved with the filthiest kinds of crooks and killers all the way up to his neck. He never asks questions or takes sides no matter who he's dealing with. That's what's kept him alive so long! It was stupid of me to think he could change even one little thing about the way he operates."

"Oh." May was silent for several moments. "...I guess he thinks he's got it all figured out by now."

"He does! He's got the most definite operating rules of anyone I've ever met...except maybe 426! He knows exactly what he wants to do and how he has to do it. And he imposes his way on everyone. No one escapes…"

"You're comparing him to 426?" May made a startled face. "Rally—"

"Yes, I am! Think about it! The best at what he does, goes through obstacles like a human tornado and just plain overwhelming on all counts! Factor love into that—I'd be swept along with him in no time at all. I would help him live the way he does. I would do his work with him. We might even be happy for a while. But it would eat me alive, May. He knows that as well as I do...and I know my own faults. I learned a little bit about them yesterday." The tears kept falling. "No one would have to use it against us. We'd destroy each other."

May knotted her brows and looked out the window at the street.

Rally bent over the table, a terrible cramp in her stomach and her face wet. "Roy warned me about him…and he was right. I can't ever be his. He's not for me…but oh, God, I wish he were." She choked; tears dripped on her untouched food. "Why did I make love to him all night when I knew I couldn't have him? Why did he let me? What am I going to do?"

"What if he went straight?" May looked back at her.

"What?"

"Like my Kenny. _What if he went straight?"_

"But…"

Rally's eyes went wide and her tear ducts abruptly shut off. For a dizzying moment the whole world seemed to turn upside down, as if Bean had caught her in his arms again and tossed her high into the air. Spinning, soaring, no ground beneath her feet. He'd catch her before she could fall; she had always been able to trust herself to his strength and skill...

"I mean, good golly, Miss Rally! Didn't it ever occur to you that your ethics might rub off on _him_ instead of the other way around?"

Rally shook her head, bringing herself back down to earth. "May, you do realize that the guy I slept with last night was _Bean Bandit?"_

"Yeah, that's who he is!" May rolled her eyes and gave a laugh. "Guess he wouldn't be real quick to admit it—but now that I think about it, compared to when we first met him, he's pretty far along on the road to reform already."

"Reform? What?"

"Come on, use your noodle!" May tapped the top of her skull. "Like, back when he helped one of his worst enemies break out of prison just for money, it would even have _occurred_ to him to team up with you on a big job? Or actually ask you to go partners?"

"Uh...maybe not."

"He's had plenty of chances to see how you operate. He knows what your priorities are. Just like you say you know his! I mean, even when he first popped the partnership question it wasn't exactly on the spur of the moment—more like he'd found a good opportunity to bring it up, right?"

"I guess so." Rally looked down and bit her lips. The fried eggs on her plate stared back like filmed yellow eyes.

Premeditation had been perhaps the most threatening aspect of Bean's original offer. He had obviously thought about it for a long time; plans and hopes relating to her had been conspiring in his mind without her knowledge, and she had recoiled as if he had plotted a sneak attack. Because he had tried to be more than a friend, he had seemed like a stranger to her again. Perhaps that was when she started to suspect he wanted her, which would have seemed threatening enough. Maybe she hadn't been wrong about that...

May peered over at her with a hopeful expression. "He's been on the move for a while now, see? And why not? When he's got YOU for inspiration, even Bean is going to see the light!"

"Moving towards what? How exactly do you think HE could go straight? There just happen to be a few minor obstacles in his path—such as ten years' worth of Federal offenses and moving violations!"

"Well, I don't know about the Federal offenses...hey!" May's face lit up. "I know—he could get into stock-car racing. He'd blow them all off the track! Or maybe he could just change over to an above-board courier business—like a specialty armored car service. And of course he'd make a great auto mechanic. You know, run a garage for classic cars, or buy old heaps and fix them up. Those can sell for a lot of money!"

May was right; Bean had many talents to choose from. Rally had told him that herself, hadn't she? Her heart gave a great hopeful thump; the room seemed warmer, the sunlight suddenly brighter.

But it would never happen. Not in a thousand years.

The whole idea was an inflated fantasy, a hopeless dream; the sooner she punctured it the better. For May's benefit, and especially for her own. If she let herself dwell on the impossible, she would only dig a deeper hole into her misery.

"See?" May laughed gaily. "Everything's going to be OK, sweetie. It'll all work out somehow!"

"Oh, for God's sake. The whole reason Bean works on cars is so he can drive them himself. Why would he want to make shiny museum pieces for old rich guys? Or do any line of work other than the one he knows best?"

May put her palms emphatically on the table and leaned forward. "Because he's stone cold, stark staring, madly in love with you, and he knows that's the only way he can have you."

"Oh, sure!"

"Hey, he was there too, remember? Making love with you all night? I heard him loud and clear, and I heard you too. It doesn't have to keep happening as far as he's concerned—he's gone." May made a whistling sound and arced a hand in the air. "Over the moon, honey!"

"Yeah?" Rally set her jaw. "So what?"

"Huh?"

"You think that makes a cent's worth of difference to him? You think Bean would do ANYTHING just for love?"

"Well…uh…" May blinked in surprise. "Well, my Kenny—"

"We're talking BEAN BANDIT, not Ken! He's no yearning Romeo! God, what an idea." Rally snapped her chin up and glared at May. "Right after I invited him to stay the whole night, you know what he did?"

"Nailed you so hard you squealed?" May rolled her eyes. "No, what?"

"He told me I'd treated him like shit and that it was all my fault he thought I'd stolen the cash seeing as how he couldn't have come to any other conclusion on why I'd jumped a guy I obviously thought was trash, and then he made sure to point out just how stupid it would be for us to get together, financially speaking, because everyone in law enforcement would shun me on his account and of course it's MONEY that makes his world go around, but that I'd only end up getting him killed in any case, so I'd better not screw him again because then he might decide not to let me go after all and take constant sexual advantage of me, and—oh, God, even HE knew he was being horrible, and he kept throwing crap at me anyway just to make me cry—guess he thought it would do me some good!"

She took a great sobbing breath. "May, not two hours ago I stood in front of that man without a stitch on and begged him to kiss me, and he told me to get out of his face."

"He did WHAT?" May looked utterly disbelieving. "Rally, you're not serious. That's a joke!"

She couldn't answer; her face contorted.

"Didn't he say anything to you? I mean, other than by screwing your brains out?"

"Like what?" Rally slapped the tabletop, rattling her silverware. She was well on the way to working up a wounded anger; it was a handy and familiar substitute for grief and loss. "Like he might be kind of _stuck_ on me because he got a woody every time he watched me bend over? The way he put that pretty much took everything out of it that I could possibly have wanted to hear!"

"You don't want to hear that Bean just can't stop thinking about sex where you're concerned?"

"Wow, he likes to ride my snazzy chassis! What makes me any more indispensable to him than one more fancy CAR?"

"Rally!"

"But you're right—he's _gone_. Gone back on the road and clear out of the state! He's a cold-hearted, cold-blooded mercenary, and there's nothing more important to him than staying EXACTLY that way for the rest of his life! Why do I even care? He sure doesn't—he walked out on me of his own free will and he's never coming back! Of all the choices he could have made, he up and left! What else could ever matter but THAT?"

"How about the fact he adores you so much he not only wants to screw you every moment of the day but also tells you that you're way too good for a guy like him?"

Rally blushed from nipples to hairline. "But…"

"But what?" May leaned forward. "What else did you think he meant?"

But she needed excuses again. Facing this straight on, realizing with any degree of clarity how Bean must feel under his cynical façade was too terrible to contemplate.

"But he left me…" she whispered. Her shoulders heaved. "How could he leave me if love meant anything to him? I…I loved him so much…"

"Who are we talking about, Rally?"

"Bean…of course."

"Yeah, of course." May raised a brow and grabbed a little plastic pack of jelly. "This wouldn't have just a little bit to do with another man who ran out of your life?"

Rally's throat tightened. "No. And if you know what's good for you, you'll drop that subject like a pinless grenade."

"Fine." May scraped jelly on her toast, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Yes, Bean had run out on her, just like Daddy had. Neither man had loved her enough even to think of putting her first. Their own codes, their own skills and ways of life were all they could truly value. She'd tried to become like her Daddy so she could be with him. She had remade herself in his image and walked in his footsteps. Maybe he had never thought about the consequences of giving her so much of his attention and teaching her so many of his skills. Finding that his wife considered marriage an endless battle for supremacy, he had turned to his little daughter, who loved him with no reservations at all. Everything he told that trusting girl she eagerly absorbed without question.

Two of a kind, as naturally happy in each other's company as if they were twins instead of parent and child. The same burnt-sugar skin, the same bitter-chocolate hair. They both exulted in the power that firearms lent them, the thrill of a perfect hit and of triumph over an opponent. They depended on the defense against all dangers that a gun represented—a means to shut out or destroy everything that stood in their way. In its flesh and bones their relationship was a stand together against the world.

But she could not live in the shadows the way he must do now. Something essential in her being would wither away without sunlight: a spiritual fate something like her mother's. Growing harder, colder, cutting deeper into everyone around her. An efficient and fearless hunter because the chase and the kill was her highest remaining motive.

Too good for someone like Bean? If she followed him along his path, became the sort of machine he aimed at for himself, she would not be good enough for anyone. And what if she were left entirely to her own devices? Rally shivered. Maybe she had already missed her final chance to redirect her destiny. The shell she was so industriously growing over her soul hadn't quite closed yet. Larry Sam had tried to reach that softer, gentler part of her and give it influence again. Perhaps her slight attraction to him was the faint call within her of what she should have been.

What she should have been? On the verge of her change from girl to woman, the only man she had ever thought she would love had vanished from her life and forgotten she existed. Her growing body, the breasts and hips and maturing beauty she should have rejoiced in, seemed like the agency of her bereavement. The grief and fury she couldn't turn against her absent father, the absolute love she had no object for any more—what had those forces spawned in her as they twisted together in the most hidden parts of her heart? That creature had turned on the only man who dared to draw out the power of her womanhood and show her another destiny. Rally choked, a constriction binding her chest.

Bean had lured a kind of dragon from within her. He'd accepted and cherished her woman's body, he'd shown her the pleasure it was meant to create with his, and because he had been the first to venture into her darkness and put out an exploring hand, she had struck her venom into his veins.

"Rally?" May paused with her mouth open to take a bite of toast. "Rally, you're crying…"

"I know." She covered her face. "It…it took me so long to tell him. And when I did…he didn't even believe me at first, because I'd been so nasty to him. By the time he figured it out…it was too late."

"You told him what?" May's eyes went huge and round. "Oh, Rally! In so many words?"

"I thought he was going to tear my head off. He tried every tactic he could think of to prove to himself I was just toying with him, or deluded…and then he said he didn't care if I thought I had to tell fairy tales to myself and boiled it all down to whether or not I'd screw him, and to what must have been his total shock, I told him yes."

The color drained from May's cheeks. "You told him? You actually _told_ him you l-l-loved him? And he claimed it was just an annoyance unless he got some ass, and you still took him up on it?"

"Close enough."

"Holy shit." She let her toast fall on her plate and clapped a hand over her mouth. "I already knew that guy was a thirty-minute egg. But I guess I had NO freaking idea!"

"No, you didn't."

"Then...then what you said about standing in front of him this morning...?"

"No joke. Cold as ice!"

May's lips trembled. "Oh, my God…"

"Until sometime last night Bean believed that the only person who might really get hurt by his making love with me was him. So he got in bed with me because he figured he was tough enough to handle a little bit of total heartbreak if he had a memory like that to treasure. Once more in his life before he died..." Rally put her face on the table and covered her head with her hands. "And I thought love could conquer all and if I could just prove it to him everything would be OK. I was sure he loved me, and that's why I said yes. But nothing's OK. He can't go straight. I can't go crooked. We should never have touched each other. I'm the one who came on to him, and he just couldn't say no…"

May vehemently shook her head. "You came on to him because you knew how much he wanted you! Bean's blaming himself, not you. He thinks he should have known better because he's the more experienced one, so it's all up to him to make this right."

"Up to him?"

"You bet—a guy like that cleans up his own messes."

Rally swallowed hard. "I know."

"So that's what he's done for love! He's tried to keep you safe."

What else had he been doing all along? Bean's car crashed and burned; hers landed on all four wheels…

"You did the impossible last night—you proved you loved him. And here he'd been getting his cooties all over you and making the infection worse. I bet he said whatever he thought might help cure you of your disease...and it didn't work."

"It wasn't his fault this happened! It was mine..."

"But it _was_ his fault, if it was anyone's fault. Just as much as it was yours." May leaned over to touch Rally's hair. "Because he made the same mistake you did. He believed you were the kind of woman...who would never truly care about a man like him."

She could almost see Bean lying alone in her bed after she'd flounced off to the bathroom to take a shower. Smelling her scent on his naked skin, the gradually cooling imprint of her body still outlined on the spread beside him. Probably the enormity of it had hit him like a knife in the throat. Their accidental collision had multiplied its hidden damages a thousand times over.

What had he thought, what had he done? Maybe he'd tried to get his clothes on and leave before realizing it was a lost cause. Staying for a few more hours couldn't make the situation worse, because it was already as bad as it could get. Maybe he'd sat motionless for a while, staring at the bed where he had finally given and received everything he had longed for. Where for a short time he had let his dreams rule him instead of his fate.

Just tonight, baby. Call me sweetheart? A little?

At least a quarter of an hour had passed before Bean had joined her in the shower, and what he had gone through during those minutes might have been even worse than what she had inflicted on him this morning. Because he'd been trying to cut his heart out with his own knives. He was in love with a woman who loved him too, and that was the entire reason he had to leave her.

He might have been cursing the very name of love. Silent tears ran down her face. The way she was doing right now...

"Ral? Please talk to me." May took her hand again. "You look awful..."

Rally closed her eyes. "He...Bean said...that nothing was going to hurt me with him around. He promised me he wouldn't go anywhere." A huge, heartbroken sob. "He promised me..."

"Honey, Bean thinks what could hurt you the most now...is him." May started to cry as well. "He was trying his best to make you believe he was that cold-hearted mercenary who didn't want you. B-but I saw those horrible scars on his throat, and what was left of Buff, and..." She choked. "He'd give everything he has for you. He'd rather die than let you come to harm."

"I want to die." Rally looked up, her streaming eyes wide open. "I'll die without him. How could he think leaving me wouldn't kill me?"

"He's hurting too, Rally." May got up and sat down beside Rally. She put her arms around her and held her close. "He's feeling exactly the same way."

Rally buried her face in May's chest, sobbing. May patted her hair, taking quivering breaths.

She had wanted to heal Bean's wounds. She had longed to make up for all the ways she had injured him and pay back the great debts she owed him. She had believed the gifts she offered would return him to health. But she had failed. The wounds penetrated past his heart; they cut into his soul. Because now he knew exactly what the treasures were that he could never enjoy: not just her body, but her love.

All her accounts were empty. She had spent all her capital, exhausted every option. What was left?

"What should I do?" It was a cry from her depths, echoing in what seemed like an infinite emptiness. "Oh, God, what should I do?"

May kissed the top of Rally's head. "Maybe we'd better go pack the car."

"Pack the...?" Rally blinked and snuffled.

"Yes, pack the car and get the hell out of here! You'll feel better once you've hit the ignition, so let's swing by the Federal Building as soon as we can. You like talking to Agent Smith and he's Mr. No Nonsense anyway—he'll cheer you up or he'll know the reason why! Maybe you could use their firing range again, huh? You might not get another chance to shoot your nice new gun for days!"

"Maybe I could..."

"Yeah! Waste some ammo and smell the gunpowder! That's always the best medicine for Rally Vincent no matter what ails her. As long as she's got bullets in her gun and gas in her tank, she can take on the world!"

Rally smiled through her tears. "I love you, May..."

"Well, you know what? I love you too."

* * *

"Larry?"

Rally stopped in the corridor on the way to Smith's office as Larry Sam appeared around a corner. May bumped into her from behind and let out a squeak of surprise. Rally pasted a smile of greeting on her face. "Uh...hello, Larry. What brings you to the Federal Building?"

Larry stopped short as well. He seemed startled too; for a moment she saw panic in his eyes.

"Hello, Rally—I, uh, I was just heading out. Hello, May..." He didn't look at her, but glanced back over his shoulder with an air of apprehension.

He wore the same dark suit as he had at the banquet, but his hair had been trimmed in a more conservative cut. He seemed somehow older and more solid, already taking on the air of an FBI agent. Someone else rounded the corner a moment afterwards: Sue Wojohowicz.

Rally gulped. "Uh, hi, Sue." How was she feeling about the way they had behaved at the party? This was the first time she had seen Wojohowicz since that night. "How are you?"

"Rally? Oh, uh, just fine, thanks." Wojohowicz gave her a bright, awkward smile. "Eventually the hangover wore off."

"Oh, heh…I guess we all might have drunk a little too much, huh?" They grinned sheepishly at each other. "I, uh, we were just here to see Pete..."

Larry and Wojohowicz looked at each other. Maybe they'd meant to clear out before she arrived, believing they had a few minutes' margin of safety, and hadn't allowed for light traffic and Rally's aggressive city driving.

"Yes, I know," said Wojohowicz. "He's expecting you." They stood aside to let her pass.

"Excuse me," said Larry, nodded at May and headed off. Wojohowicz lingered for a moment, but turned to follow him.

"Sue? Is...everything all right? Something come up?"

The agent actually blushed. "You could put it that way…"

"Sue?"

Wojohowicz seemed to shrug something off, like the last sour twinge of a humiliating memory. Maybe she was thinking of an unwise crush on an underground courier with a nice set of shoulders. "We've just been debriefing. Mr. Sam and I have, that is."

"Debriefing? Did Pete want to know something...?"

"Yes, he did." The corner of her mouth quirked; she regained a fraction of her usual air of amused tolerance. "Well, he'll fill you in. Goodbye, Rally. You too, May. Have a nice trip." She left them in the corridor looking sideways at each other.

"What the hell was that all about?" May narrowed her eyes.

"Search me." Rally made a face. They knew something. About Bean? How?

"Weird." May's mouth dropped open. "Oh, my gosh! You think Agent Smith asked them something about—?"

"What else? I think someone said once that Sergeant Smith had the sensitivity of a rhinoceros." No wonder those two had looked so strange, if he'd been grilling them about the state of her relationship with Bean! "For God's sake, May, don't say a word to him about what's happened!"

"Huh? Why?"

"Promise me! That's one subject I just don't want to get into with him right now. One smart remark, and—" She hugged herself and peeked around the corner. "He's coming out! Promise me!"

"A-all right...I promise."

"Hey there, girls." Smith emerged from his office and gestured to them. He was in shirtsleeves, not usual for him, and he seemed restless. Even his grizzled buzzcut somehow managed to look rumpled. "Come and take a chair. Miss May, Miss Rally—glad you could find the time to come and see us. Won't keep you long."

"Good morning, Pete." She gave him a smile. "Did you want me to file that report before I go?"

"Report?" He looked blank for a moment. "Oh—right. Your little problem at the seaside. Yeah, I had something typed up for you to look over if you'd like to check the details. Sure, let's get that covered now." He ushered them in and picked a document from his in-box. "There you go."

"What's this?" May looked inquiring.

"Oh, gosh, I never had a chance to tell you about the assassination attempt!" Rally laughed a little, scanned the incident report and gave May a quick account of how she and Bean had handled Brown's hitmen.

"He was just brilliant—getting the guy to ask for the car keys rather than offer them to him, see? So he wouldn't be suspicious right off the bat! God, I could have kissed—" She stopped short and clenched her jaw to keep her lips from trembling. May looked at her with concern.

Smith cleared his throat and grunted a laugh. "Yeah, pretty clever. Well, they're fish food. Forget them." He laughed again, more heartily this time. "When you've got a guy like Bandit watching your back, you've got no worries." Rally glanced at him with a sense of something under that comment, but all she saw was bluff good humor.

May looked slightly green at the mention of fish and stuck out her tongue. Rally grabbed a pen, hastily signed the report, which made no mention of Bean, and handed it back to Smith.

"That was nicely done, Pete. Makes me look like Wonder Woman, though!"

"Hey, why not?" He grinned and tossed it into his out-box. "Nothing unbelievable about that."

"Oh, come on." She waved a hand at him. "So, is the firing range free? Where's my rifle?"

"We'll get to that, Miss Rally." He smiled tightly. "There's something I need to mention to you first."

Something about his expression disturbed her, but she couldn't see any way to evade this, so she sat down. Might as well get it over with and get on the road!

"This have anything to do with me or not?" May looked at Smith, obviously on alert.

"As a matter of fact it does, Miss May, so please have a seat. How's that baby doing?"

"Great!" May put a hand on her belly. "I'm pretty sure I can feel him moving around sometimes. Usually in the middle of the night, of course!"

"Good, good. Can I get you some water or anything?"

"Sure, thanks." May leaned towards Rally when Smith stepped out to the water cooler, apparently meaning to make a comment out of his hearing, but he returned almost at once.

"There you go." He handed May a cup, sat down behind his desk and leaned back. "Girls, I need your help. Especially yours, Miss Rally. I hope I'm in a position to ask a favor or two?"

"Well, sure you are!" Rally smiled at him—this didn't sound so bad. "I'd do just about anything in my power, Pete."

"All right, that's good to know."

"Hey, I owe you. You have no idea how glad I am that I met you...and that we eventually got along."

Smith grimaced, but spoke with a touch of gallantry. "Well, thank you, ma'am. I'll say the same to you."

"So what is it you need us to help with?" May sounded much less enthusiastic than Rally.

Smith took a deep breath and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. "I wish I'd had more opportunity to study those documents of Brown's before they, ah, vanished. Some valuable information in that folder regarding Bean Bandit."

May's gaze slid to Rally and back to Smith. Rally took a quick startled breath.

"Process of elimination, girls. We've been looking everywhere for it, assuming it had been misplaced." He leaned forward, something tautening the skin around his eyes. "At least, I truly hoped it had only been misplaced. But I had incontrovertible proof of its ultimate disposition handed to me only this morning. I admit I was actively avoiding that conclusion until now, because it was Bob Wesson who first suspected you two, and I wasn't very willing to listen to his opinion."

"Uh-oh." May turned bright pink.

Rally's eyes went wide. Smith knew they had taken the black folder, and something in his manner told her that he wasn't going to write off its loss after all. Rather the opposite.

"Incontrovertible proof? What do you mean?"

"That's what I said. I guess you didn't realize we were watching your hotel. A little off your game, are you, Miss Rally?" Smith's smile had an edge of slightly unpleasant sarcasm.

"Watching me?" A cold, dizzy wave went through her; she rose halfway and sat down again, clutching the arms of her chair. "How the hell long have you been _watching_ me?"

"Watching the hotel, I said." He gave a bland shrug. "There were at least two agents in the lobby 24/7, and a lot more on call in case of suspicious activity. As long as you were in San Francisco, we considered you our responsibility, so the FBI was on the lookout for known Dragon auxiliaries and anyone we could associate with Brown's gang. You were recovering from a hospitalization, so we didn't bother your pretty head with the details."

"Sorry, Rally." May looked sheepish. "These nice clean-cut guys at the concierge desk were always helping me with my bags when I got back from shopping. I thought they worked for the hotel!"

Yeah, she'd been pretty preoccupied not to spot round-the-clock FBI surveillance! Chagrin and anger in equal measures seethed in her breast. "Oh, and this was for my protection, huh?"

"Yes, it was. I imagine that's why your hapless contract killers didn't make a move until you and Bean were well out of the city and away from observation. They spotted us and backed off to wait for a better opportunity."

Rally covered her mouth, the penny finally dropping. "You know where Bean spent last night."

Smith's face twitched. "Of course I do. Even if I hadn't been briefed, you did tell me he was with you yesterday. I think I could have figured out on my own where that was going to lead."

"Oh." A deep flush mantled her cheeks. "So that's your incontrovertible proof?"

"The agents on duty observed Bean coming into the hotel with you, and they observed him leaving early this morning. He had a hefty set of documents in a black cover. Was that why you lifted it in the first place?"

"You gave the folder to Bean?" May turned to her with a startled look. "Just handed it to him?"

"Yes, I did." Rally closed her eyes for a moment, her heart sinking.

"A generous whim, huh? You've probably gathered that I had some plans for that folder. Not just the raw information in it, but its value...in possible negotiations." Smith's eyes narrowed. "I think you said you owed me, kid."

Rally met his steely gaze and swallowed hard. It wasn't at all comfortable to be on the other end of Smith's displeasure; she'd almost forgotten how intimidating that square drill-sergeant face could look. "You were going to offer Bean the folder? In exchange for something?"

"More or less. After we'd plumbed it to the depths, naturally. I don't know if that would have been the ideal angle." Smith tapped a fist on the edge of the desk. "But you've left a damn big hole in my plans to persuade Bean to talk to me."

"Talk to you?" May blinked. "You talked to him for hours! I thought you two were shooting the breeze about cars!"

"When did you shoot the breeze with—oh. At the Sam party?" Rally stiffened. "That's why you made Larry invite Bean inside!"

"Partly, yes. I wasn't going to lose an opportunity like that. Didn't think we were going to get another chance."

"You weren't going to get another chance?" Rally went red and shot to her feet. "That's exactly what Sue said to him!"

Smith leaned back to meet her glare with a level gaze. "Sure, she might have been quoting me. We've been discussing the objective in-house for a while. We'd hoped he would show a lot sooner, and I'll admit we were getting nervous. The banquet seemed like pretty good bait, but it wasn't a sure thing by any means."

"Oh, really? So you told her to come on to Bean?"

Her face hot, Rally rapidly skimmed through her memories of the dancing and drinking. Apparently more had been going on during that phase of the party than she had realized—and it was no wonder she hadn't noticed anything, considering how drunk she had been herself. Her powers of observation had certainly gone to hell over the last couple of weeks, and there was only one person she could blame for that!

May's gaze switched back and forth between her and Smith, her expression disturbed and her lips tight.

Smith rolled his eyes. "Didn't even have to mention the possibility. Agent Wojohowicz took it upon herself to apply a little, uh, creative thinking to the situation. Which was fine by me—I figured she'd come through for more than one reason. Which is about what she confirmed to me this morning."

"Holy shit! You knew she had a crush on him?"

"I had my suspicions. Didn't bother me any, and it worked to my advantage. If it hadn't been for her, Bean might have left pretty soon after he got there."

"Because of me, you mean."

Smith's face twitched again. "You have to admit you didn't go out of your way to treat him like a fellow guest of honor."

"Not after he'd scared me and Larry half to death!"

"You don't seem to have held that as a serious grudge against him, Miss Vincent. To put it mildly." His eyes flicked up and down her figure. "Like I said, I needed to talk to him, and as long as it hooked him, I was willing to try anything."

"Including letting Bean get Sue so upset she—" Rally sat back down in mid-gesture and shut her lips. Her anger at Smith was rapidly getting out of hand; she should be much more careful, considering her situation, but it wasn't easy to restrain herself when she felt so disoriented. Everything seemed different now, every word and gesture, as if a tidy, sequential stack of incidents and images had been shuffled into unrecognizable chaos.

"She works for the Bureau. A little stress and strain comes with the job. What's your problem, girl? I wasn't about to suggest that _you_ offer him anything." Smith leaned back and showed his teeth in a nasty smile. "Though I guess kicking his shins and calling him names must turn him on."

"You...you..." She spluttered with rage and embarrassment. Her good friend Pete? This seemed like the Smith she'd first met, the caustic old-school agent who seemed to specialize in needling her.

"Calm the fuck down, girl." He waved a hand at her. "I'm only getting my own back. Those documents weren't your property to dispose of. They're mine—that is to say, they're the property of the United States government and the Department of Justice."

"Fine, we're thieves. I'm such a bad girl!" May held out her wrists with a kittenish squeak and wriggle. "Going to put the cuffs on now, Agent? Ooh, this could be kind of exciting!"

Smith looked very much taken aback, and shot a glance at his closed door. He abruptly got up and retrieved his jacket from a hook. Rally burst out laughing, almost more in relief than amusement. The tension in the room collapsed.

"Jesus. Don't talk so loud! Somebody might get the wrong—" He shrugged the jacket on and sat back down, muttering to himself. A few drops of sweat shone on his forehead.

"Ooh, really? I didn't know this sort of thing went on in the Federal Building all the time!"

Smith gave May a ruffled glance. Rally kept giggling; he looked back at her. "Getting to my point, Miss Rally?"

"Of course, getting to your point." She sobered up somewhat, though she couldn't help grinning at his obvious discomfiture. Thank God for May!

"Christ, kid, I was going to let Bean have that folder eventually in any case." Smith threw up his hands. "Once I'd made all the use of it I could, it would have been my privilege to wrap it up in ribbons. But you can't give it back to me now, so my options have considerably narrowed."

"Sorry." Rally didn't feel a great deal of sympathy at the moment, but realized that Wesson would never have contemplated letting the folder out of his possession. She could give Smith that much credit.

"I'm not interested in throwing you girls in jail, for crying out loud. I'm a practical man, and I'll use what I can get. Right now, that's you. What you got to offer me in exchange for a valuable piece of government property?" He leaned back in his chair and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Rally compressed her lips. "You want us to help you get something out of Bean? What did you want him to talk to you about, anyway?"

"Not vehicular trivia, that's for sure." He snorted. "That's how I started out at the party, though. I figured I'd try warming him up and then move on to the more important stuff. He was happy to talk shop with me, but the moving on part didn't work worth shit. That man's a brick wall when he wants to be."

"Brown put it about like that." She looked down and picked at her fingernails.

"Yep, and if even Sly Brown couldn't talk about delicate matters with Bean, I guess I didn't have a snowball's chance. Not that I go for Sly's style of conversation." He rubbed his upper lip. "I tried to be straightforward, but I also tried to pick my moment. So I broached the subject once I'd buttered him up for a while. He'd had a few drinks and gotten relaxed, I thought. He did me the honor of hearing me out, but that was it." Smith sighed and his face sagged into lines of frustration; he looked tired and much older. "I could tell he didn't consider it for a fraction of a second."

"You still haven't told me what you want from him."

Smith frowned at his desk and moved a few papers. "You might recall that the FBI's very sketchy initial information on Bean made note of the fact that he would be an invaluable resource for clearing a lot of Federal cases. Simply put, that's exactly what I want. Not official testimony, of course. Just some facts and figures pertinent to the most important of those cases."

"Oh."

"You understand the significance of this?" He raised his chin and gave her an intense and focused look. "For fifteen years I've done everything in my power to fight against organized crime, and I've made a little headway, I think. The work's slow and the results are too. The bad guys always seem to be miles ahead of us, and I'll admit the FBI doesn't always make the best use of the resources it has. This guy? He could bust rackets all across the country."

"Bean?"

"Bean." Smith made a sweeping gesture; his voice rose. "We're talking about a source who could be a one-man powerhouse RICO sting." He suddenly leaned forward and pointed straight at her. "Miss Rally, you got involved in Bean's business and ran a lot of risks to help take out one lousy Triad. You want to see mobs going down like a field of corn in front of a fucking combine harvester? Get Bean Bandit to talk to me!" He pounded a fist on his desk.

Rally's mouth opened and closed, her head whirling. "I guess he has the goods on a lot of organizations...but he won't give it to you. His rules—"

"Professional honor and all that. I know." He made a dismissive gesture. "That's about what he told me. He won't betray his clients with the information he gets from working for them."

"Yes, that's right. Unless they've betrayed him first, of course..."

"I respect professional rules, and I respect the fact that he's a man of his word." Smith nodded. "I'd never try to tear that down—that's a huge part of what that guy is about, and just one of the reasons I like him. But I don't know how to reach him, given those obstacles."

"Unless you had a really incredible incentive to offer him..." She flushed. "Like that folder."

"Uh-huh. His mind matches his muscles." Smith tapped his right temple. "Steel trap, and no mistake. He'd see through any subterfuge I cared to try if I cared to try it. But even if I could, I won't resort to trickery."

Rally laughed shortly. "Tricking Bean is as much as your life is worth. That was one of the biggest reasons he hated Brown so much."

"Exactly. I wouldn't want to get on that side of him for a million bucks. Nor do I want to make threats. I want a direct approach. Quid pro quo. I'll pay for his services in any coin he prefers."

"That's...how he operates."

"I've already told him what I'm after, face to face. So I think you realize I'm not planning a sneak attack. Would you tell him that?"

"Uh..."

"Let's not beat around the bush. I've lost my best angle on Bean. You swiped it off Bob Wesson's desk and made him a present of it." Smith took a deep breath and flushed slightly under his stern expression. "But, Miss Rally, I imagine you have an angle that couldn't be surpassed."

Rally's insides turned over. "I...I..."

She began to hyperventilate. He had no idea Bean had left her with no intention of coming back. He thought they were acknowledged lovers. Happy, fulfilled, celebrating their new life together. All the pain and anger she had felt at abandonment rushed back in a storm of emotion, though it threatened to aim in another direction entirely. Her teeth clenched, her face went hot and cold.

"What you looking at me like that for, girl?" Smith laughed derisively. "You let the big mongrel into your room last night, didn't you? So obviously he's learned how to roll over and beg!"

"How...how DARE you?"

"Oh, my God," muttered May.

Smith sat back and raised his hands. "All I'm asking you to do is lead him a little farther along the primrose path. He's well on his way anyhow, right? With your rosy lips at his ear, he'll be willing to listen to reason. You encourage that along as much as you can, and I'd lay good money I'll have myself an informant inside of a month."

Rally slowly rose, her throat tight and her voice strangled. "The last time I heard someone propose that I use Bean's weakness for me against him, I was talking to Sylvester Brown."

Smith's expression darkened. "Now you hold on just a minute—"

"You son of a bitch. I can't believe I'm hearing this—you know how he feels about me and you want me to make it into a weapon? Destroy everything important about him and force him to betray people who trusted him? I'll never do that!"

"Who the hell's asking you to destroy anything?"

"You are! You're asking me to take away his honor and his independence and everything that gives him strength! You want me to drain the lifeblood out of him until he has to lean on me just to stand up! I love him, you got that? I love him! Just the way he's always been! Bean Bandit, the Roadbuster. The baddest driver in Chicago!" She had gone over the top now and couldn't stop the flood. May pulled on the back of her jacket, but Rally didn't sit down.

Smith sneered slightly. "Oh, so you love him."

"Yes, I do! You ever love someone you shouldn't love, Agent Smith? Someone who was totally out of your reach and who you knew you could never have but you still couldn't help loving that person no matter what you did? You ever been in love at all, you son of a bitch?"

His lips peeled back from his teeth. "As a matter of fact, I have."

"Rally..." said May in a low, warning voice and yanked harder at her jacket. Rally jerked away and slammed her palms on Smith's desk.

"Oh, yeah? Then how the hell can you tell me to use a man I love for your purposes? How can you tell me to sacrifice him to the DOJ to put another gold star on your record?" She jabbed a finger at the plaques and certificates hanging on Smith's office wall. "It's not like the government's ever done anything for him—except raise him long enough to run away and live on the streets at twelve years old! You've got no idea what he's suffered!"

Smith abruptly shoved his chair back, got up and stalked towards the door. "Maybe more than you have, girl."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

May looked shocked, her hands pressed to her cheeks. "Rally...watch it...!"

"No, I won't! I'm tired of denying it! I'm tired of telling myself and everyone else that Bean's no good because of who he is! It doesn't matter any more—it never mattered at all. I don't love him in spite of his being the Roadbuster! I love him BECAUSE of it!"

Smith turned and directed a stare at her that under almost any other circumstances would have made her shake. "Because he's a criminal? You want him to drive on the wrong side of the street for the rest of his life? However short that turns out to be?"

"Yes! The rest of his life! Longer than that. Forever! Anyone, anything, anywhere, anytime! I don't want Bean to let all the air out of his tires for me. I don't want him to settle down and turn into some goddamn USED-CAR SALESMAN!"

"Rally!" May's mouth dropped open. "You don't WANT...? B-but you love him! He loves YOU!"

"And you know what? If he ever told me that, if he changed his course by one degree because of me, he wouldn't be the Bean Bandit I know any more. I think the sky would fall on my head if that happened. Nothing would ever be the same again!"

"No, I guess it wouldn't." Smith banged the door open and went out.

"Rally..."

"What?"

"Oh, God, Rally...how COULD you?" Angry tears glittered in May's eyes. She shoved her chair backwards and followed Smith, leaving Rally alone in the office. She stared at the open door and the empty hallway, her mind gone a little numb after so intense a blaze of feeling.

"What?" she said again, to no one.

* * *

Rally stared at the array of weapons spread out on the table in the basement firing range of the Federal Building. Pistols, rifles, her Sig SSG-551, another HK-11 like the one that she had lost in the pier. That rifle had saved her life and Larry's. She looked at it for some moments and patted the stock, but picked up another military assault rifle, a battered AK-47 with its distinctive banana clip engaged.

"What's this old thing? It looks like something from the Vietnam War!"

"Oh, that belongs to Agent Smith." A young agent finished unloading the cart full of ordnance he had brought down from the armory. "He asked me to put it here with the stuff he checked out for you. Said he wanted to get off a few rounds with you for old time's sake."

"Oh." Rally put the AK-47 down. "Um, I think I'll start with my own guns. If that's all right."

"Sure." The young agent shrugged. "He said to let you shoot anything you wanted to, so all this is staying here until you're finished with it. The ammo and belts are all here on the cart. Anything else I can get you?"

"No...I'm good. Thanks." The young agent left, and Rally was alone in the firing range. She hung up her jacket, put on ballistic goggles and ear protectors and sent out a target. After rapidly emptying her CZ75's magazines at twenty-five yards, she loaded them again.

"May...dammit..." Rounds clicked in one by one as Rally muttered to herself, still seething despite the bracing smell of cordite in her nostrils. "I thought you were on MY side! What's the matter with you?" She laid the CZ75 down and picked up her rifle. Firing from the hip with her feet braced and her teeth gritted, she blasted away at the target until the center was one gaping hole. The rifle's triple magazines held enough ammunition to blow away legions of imaginary foes, but Rally's firing rate gradually trailed off, her trigger pulls coming slower and slower until she finally stopped and lowered the weapon. Her face working, she stared unseeing at the back wall of the firing range.

It was true; she didn't want Bean to go straight if that would make the slightest difference to who he was. She couldn't let him open any chink in his defenses; that would surely tear him apart. Wasn't he unalterable and seamless, every part of him necessary to the whole? Break the smallest imperative of his natural profession, like a gear slipping its motion, and the whole machine would unbalance, batter itself to pieces, grind to a permanent halt. That was exactly what he had told her this morning.

She could not bear to think of him like that: ruined, diminished. Not just because she loved him. Her love had nothing to do with Bean's essential self. He had lived and worked on his own long before she had come along, and he would keep going on his lonely way without her.

"No," she said aloud. "I'll never ask you to change. I won't long for the impossible. I'd even let you off that promise you made me, just to know that you're still out there somewhere, doing what you do best: tearing up the highway, pushing your cars to the limit, never stopped, never arrested, always five steps ahead of pursuit..."

Rally raised her face, her eyes alight and focused on imaginary distances. Wind seemed to stir in her hair.

"I want to see you blast past me in a supercharged Mustang or that L-88 Corvette with your hair standing on end and your hands locked to the wheel, rock solid at a hundred and fifty miles per hour. It doesn't matter where you're going, because I only want to know that you will never slow down. I want you to run as fast as a red-lined engine, as powerful as a juiced dragster. I want you to exist forever exactly the way you are: a perfect machine for driving.

"And I want you as dangerous as the elements. I want you as unpredictable and uncaring as the ocean. I want you not to give a damn. To think only of your rep and your cars and your cash! I want you to be what you were meant to be, no ball and chain to hold you down. Always put pride and money a thousand miles ahead of love! That's what Bean Bandit would do!"

She spread her arms wide and tears ran down her face. "I love you. I will love you for the rest of my life. But don't turn around, Bean. Don't look back at me, because then I might hope our dreams could come true. Just cut our hearts out and abandon them in the dust. It's better that way. If I did have hope...if I thought that there was the smallest chance we could be together and then it didn't come true after all, I think it would kill me instead.

"We lost control last night. We've gone through the guardrail and over the cliff. We've driven into the fire together. But you still have a chance to save your own life, if you'll only leave me behind. This time I'm going to keep you safe instead of the other way around. I'll defend you to the death, Bean. I won't let you die with me."

She snapped the rifle to her shoulder and began to fire again, but her shots wandered far off target, her vision blurring with her tears.

* * *

"Agent Smith?" May poked her head around the door of the break room.

Smith finished filling his coffee cup and dumped in a packet of Sweet 'n' Low. "Yeah."

"Can I talk to you? I'm sorry Rally called you a, uh—I thought maybe you had more to say that didn't get said. Because of that."

"Sit down, Miss May." He pulled out a chair for her.

"So are you really mad at us for swiping that folder right out from under your nose?" May sat and made big Bambi eyes at Smith, who stared back. "I'm weally, weally thorry…" She stuck out her lower lip and sniffled theatrically while pretending to wipe away tears.

He gave a short, half-amused chuckle. "I'm kind of impressed that you accomplished it in the first place. But yeah, I'm just a mite ticked off. Not least because I'm on record as swearing up and down that you girls couldn't possibly be the culprits." Smith took a quick swig of coffee and made a face.

"Um... since you can't use the folder now, what were you going to offer Bean in exchange for his information?"

Smith shook his head, his expression grim. "Sounds like I'm back to the drawing board on that one too. Allow me to get you something, Miss May?" He nodded at a rack full of tea bags and packets of instant cocoa.

"Yes, thank you—some of that spice tea would be nice." She stayed where she was, swinging her feet and watching Smith make the tea for her. He methodically opened the packet, poured hot water over the bag, put the cup in front of her along with two napkins, two sugars and a coffee stirrer and sat down again with an air faintly less on edge.

"Thank you." May jiggled the bag up and down in the cup with the coffee stirrer and tipped in half a packet of sugar.

"My pleasure." Smith drank his coffee in silence.

"I really would like to hear what you were thinking about doing, even if you don't think it's going to work." May looked up while blowing on her hot tea. "I know you weren't talking about blackmailing Rally or forcing her to—whatever."

"I hoped I'd made that clear...but I guess I didn't." Smith rose with a resigned grunt and got a refill from the almost-empty pot bubbling away on the burner. "Christ, this crap is thick as melted asphalt."

"You said something about the wrong side of the street. Did you mean...that you want to see Bean go straight?"

"What does it matter what I want? If she's stuck on that idea of him, nothing I can say will make any difference."

"Agent Smith..."

He half-smiled. "Pete, OK? If you don't mind addressin' me as a friend."

"Gosh, of course!" May smiled back, then grew serious again. "Look, Pete...Rally's pretty upset. She swore me to secrecy, so I can't tell you the details. Maybe she'll get around to it when she calms down."

"Yeah, yeah." He sighed and turned his steaming cup in his hands. "So tell me what you can tell me."

May bit her lips. "It's not you she's angry with, OK? Don't take it personally."

"And how would you suggest I do that, Miss May?" Smith gave her an edged smile.

"Uh...well..."

"Sorry. I guess I'm not feeling so calm and collected myself."

"Because she insulted you?"

"If you like." Smith shrugged and leaned against the counter next to the coffeemaker. "So who's she pissed at if it's not me?"

"Well...she's been pretty badly hurt..."

"Hurt?" Smith frowned and abruptly put his cup down, sloshing coffee on the countertop. "Has that son of a bitch—?"

"No—not like th-that." May's face crumpled and her voice quavered. "Don't think that Bean did something wrong. That's not why Rally's feeling so bad. He...he tried to fix things in the only way he could. It's not his fault it didn't—but I'm not supposed to be saying anything."

Smith's brows creased in puzzlement, but he nodded. "All right, he's off the hook. Go on."

"This is going to be awfully hard to explain in a way that makes sense."

"Give it a try."

"Oh, gosh." May put her face in her hands and her head on the table. "I think it's self-defense. She's building walls like crazy. One gets knocked down and another goes up. I don't think she can help it. It's like this reflex where she goes in circles..."

"You're right." Smith folded his arms. "That doesn't make sense."

"Uh..."

"She made you promise not to tell me the details? Why?"

"Because she was afraid you'd be all sarcastic and make cracks about it." May gave Smith a rueful look.

"She can't take a joke, so she went off on me." He rolled his eyes. "Fine. If you can't tell me what's eating her, I'll take my best guess. Give me a wink if I'm getting warm."

May nodded, and Smith creased his brows and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Just one direct question, OK? She telling the truth about this? That she doesn't want Bandit to go straight?"

"...I don't know. I thought that was exactly what she would want."

"That's one girl who takes justice seriously. Why would she believe that breaking the law is what makes a man a man? She's been listening to some damn stupid—" Smith stopped short. "Hey. That wasn't her idea—it's his."

"Warm," said May. "Boiling hot."

He shot a look at her. "Bean told her that, did he? That you can't turn around once you've picked your road? Can't escape your karma? That fucking coward."

"What?"

Smith kicked a vending machine with a sudden crash and May jumped. "Most guys with half a set of balls would do anything in the world for a lady like her, and he can't even swear off driving faster than the speed limit? Fucking pussy son of a bitch!"

May blinked at him. "Uh...geez...I see you feel strongly about this…"

"No shit, sister." Smith sat down forcibly and took a few hard breaths. "I'd like to bang a little education through that thick skull!" He shook a fist. "If I had him right here—well, I'm not twenty-nine any more."

"What would you tell him, Pete?"

"If Bean was in this room? And if he was listening to me for some unfathomable reason?"

"Imagine he was." May creased her brows and carefully examined Smith's expression.

His face worked and twitched. "It ain't all about you, you big bastard." Smith aimed a finger upwards, as if addressing someone a head taller than himself. "It's about you and her, yeah, but it's about the rest of the world too. You can't stand apart your whole life—sure, you've made a pretty good job of it until now, but it always comes down to something like this in the end. You're a human being just like the rest of us bums! You OWE something to the whole damn species, and a man pays his debts!"

Smith stopped, breathing hard, and seemed to make an effort to control himself. After a moment he went on in a low, harsh voice.

"No matter how tough you think you are, you're not a machine. Frankly, you're a fucking cream puff. You're an infant. You've had it all your own way until now. This is where the going gets rough. This is the real test, pansy-ass." He slammed his fists on the table and bore down; the legs creaked. "So don't make the biggest mistake any man can make! Don't waste your courage in the wrong cause! The only cause that matters is living like a human being. Fuck your rules. Fuck your honor! If it cuts you off from the only thing that redeems the whole blasted world from darkness, it's bullshit from beginning to end!"

"Love?" said May.

Smith glanced her way, his cheeks flushed and his teeth on edge. "What the hell else?"

"Uh…wow, I guess I wouldn't have thought _you'd_ put it quite that way..."

"Christ, I know he's crazy about her. I got that the first time I met him—while he was cracking me over the head with my own carbine, that is." Smith rubbed his temple. "I didn't have to see him get killed to figure out why he was working so hard on her behalf."

"Get _killed_? Don't you mean almost killed? I heard it was something to do with this weird poison 426 used on his throwing stars...?"

Smith slowly shook his head. "I've seen dead men, Miss May. I know the difference between life and death. That man was as dead as they come."

May looked at him, silent.

"I am not a religious man. I never have been in awe of anything that I thought was greater than myself, other than the United States of America and its founding documents. Then I saw a man come back from the other side of death for the sake of a woman he loved. At that moment, I was a religious man, or I guess I believed in the same thing Bean believed in." He closed his eyes for a moment and faintly grinned. "Now that was a feeling."

"Oh, my God." May's lips formed the words without making a sound.

"So tell me. How can a guy who throws his life away for a woman be such a pussy?" Smith growled and crushed his empty coffee cup.

May swallowed hard. "He does put Rally before everything else. He can't stop himself."

Smith looked away for a moment. "Well, that's a start."

"To him that's a bad thing! All the wonderful things he's done for her seem like he's giving in to a weakness instead of being incredibly brave. He can't even see himself as a hero. He's lost his biggest battle, and he knows it."

"We all lose some."

"I don't think he's too used to it." May sighed. "Maybe you're right—it does scare him. B-but Rally's scared too... "

"She's scared of what? That Bean will cut his own balls off if he breaks one rule?" Smith narrowed his eyes. "I think we're back where we started."

"Maybe…when the whole world's falling out from under you, you hold on to what's familiar just to save your life. If you can count on something—someone—to stay exactly the way he is, even if that isn't the way you'd like him to be, at least you know where you stand."

Smith rolled his eyes. "Fucking pathetic. They spent the night together, she's finally saying out loud that she loves him, and you'd think she was on the worst day of her life! I'm sadly disappointed in that little lady."

"W…w…warm," stuttered May.

"Huh?"

"It's…it's…oh, heck, I wish I could say why! B-but I bet that's just what she would say—the worst day of her life."

"And I picked today to come down real hard on her…for reasons I won't mention either." He rubbed his forehead. "Well, shit. Maybe I deserve everything she called me."

May reached towards him, her fingertips just brushing the sleeve of his coat. "I know she'll be sorry soon! You're her friend—she didn't mean it."

Smith looked at May, his face pale. "Oh, she meant it, all right. She was defending the man she loves."

"Bean was desperate to make her believe that nothing about him would ever change." May leaned closer. "But I think you want something really important to change, something that could make a difference to her whole life. And to Bean's."

Smith shut his eyes for a moment. "Yes."

"Like I said...I'm listening."

"I'm talking about offering the man a blanket immunity deal from the FBI."

"A...what?" May's eyes went huge; she put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, gosh...that would be WONDERFUL!"

"At least someone appreciates my beneficence." Smith cracked a tart smile.

"Of course I do! Wow! What does the FBI have on Bean, anyway? Some kind of dossier?"

"After he's been in business ten years? You bet your ass we do." He chuckled faintly. "The moment he showed up on the Brown operation we knew who we were dealing with. We could pin some major crap on him that he'd find pretty hard to shake, even though making it stick in court might prove a little iffy. But that's not what I want to do, and even when I wanted to detain him for questioning, that wasn't what I had in mind. The man's got far more value as a source."

"So what would this deal cover?"

"I want to wipe out every potential Federal rap on his docket. That won't be so hard to arrange when reasonable doubt is in short supply. All he has to do is show us some effort and a little halfway-decent dope. The sticky problem is his home town. I've been on the horn to some colleagues in the Illinois field offices, and I've heard stories that would curl your hair." He shook his head.

"You mean everything he's done in Chicago?" May's face fell. "Roy said Bean's been in the top ten most wanted for a long time in the Chicago PD. They're mad as hell at him."

"No reason they shouldn't be. The number of squad cars he's smashed up must have set some kind of record." Smith laughed with genuine amusement. "But you know what? Far as I can deduce from talking to Detective Coleman, half the department secretly admires the man. They know he doesn't cross a certain line—he's not the worst of the worst by a long chalk. Cops understand a guy who knows his way around the streets and his way around an automobile. If Bean were to show them he'd turned things around, such as by making some conspicuous gestures, maybe they'd change their minds about him. Could take a while, I admit, and it's not a sure bet by any means. He's got some dyed-in-the-wool enemies. But I've heard other stories, you see, and of course I've seen plenty of the best stuff with my own eyes." Smith patted a hand over his heart. "A man who could do some of the things he's done..."

May beamed at him. "I could tell you a lot more of those good stories, Pete, and so could Rally!"

"I bet you could. Behind that brick wall there's a heart of gold...so to speak." He smiled. "He doesn't have to muster a change of attitude to turn his life around. It's already there. He's just got to be willing to show that to the world."

"Turn his life around? So this deal isn't just because you want something to offer him in exchange for information?"

Smith made a noncommittal shrug.

"You said you like Bean. You want him to be able to, um, live a better life? Able to offer something to...Rally?"

"What about to pay him back for what he did for my agent and for young Mr. Sam? I haven't forgotten how he rescued you and Brown's daughter either. The man is a hero. Maybe in time he'll believe that." Something struggled with his smile, shaping it oddly. "Yeah, he deserves that lady. Down to the last drop of blood in his body. Literally."

"You want to help them be with each other? So they can be happy?" May touched his arm. "Pete...that's the most wonderful thing I've ever heard."

Smith laid his hand over hers. "It's only fitting. You don't ignore something like what happened at that hospital. It's got meaning. What exact meaning might be up for debate, but not the meat of it. He gets another chance, or my name's not Pete Smith." He sniffed hard through his nose. "Yeah, well. Least...the very least I could do. If she lets me do it, that is."

"Oh, I'm sure she will!" Delight and a shade of tender sorrow mixed in May's face. "We'll talk to her, and I know she'll come through when she gets a chance to think. You're a good man, Pete. The best."

"That's mighty sweet of you to say, but I know when I'm being buttered up." He patted her hand and leaned back.

"You think so?" She dipped her head and looked up at him through her lashes. "You deserve a lot too. I'm sorry...that you didn't end up with that woman. The one you said you'd loved."

Smith shrugged. "Little late for that. Thirty years back...well, I guess I never would have let her get away." He ran a hand over his grizzled hair. "1969 was a long time ago."

"Aw...I bet you would have swept her off her feet."

"I'd've given it my best shot, that's for sure. Heck, I'd've roared right up in my screaming yellow Hemi 'Cuda and taken her for the ride of her life." His eyes crinkled; his accent gained a hint of Georgia drawl. "I may be a wide-assed old fart, but way back then, I might have been able to give even Bean Bandit a run for his money."

May gave him a huge, shaky grin, her eyes sparkling with tears. "Yeah..."

"Aw, Miss May. Don't you cry." Smith's accent slid all the way South. "We all get old and gray. Or we do if we're lucky enough to live that long. There, there." Smiling, he looked into the distance. "No use for weepin'."

"I was just hoping...that she didn't hurt you too much. That woman you loved." May's voice went high; she swallowed a lump and went on. "Because I'm pretty sure she doesn't—I mean, I guess she never knew. You never told her, did you?"

"Why the hell would I have done that?" He snorted gently. "Not like it was her fault."

"Her fault?"

"She was a lovely lady inside and out. Tough and tender at the same time. She couldn't always decide which way to be, but that was part of her charm. You wanted to stand back and let her do things her way, and you also wanted to stand right beside her and give her all the help she needed for as long as she needed it. She was filled with passion from head to toe. Passion for her profession, for the good of the world, and for the people she loved."

"She must have been a very special person."

"No mistake about that. You couldn't help but feel something extraordinary when you were around her. Maybe her temper could be a little quick and maybe sometimes she'd refuse to look straight at things right in front of her nose. She wasn't a plaster angel by any means. But when a beautiful young lady looks at you with that clean zeal for life and justice shining in her eyes, it would get any man's attention. Any man at all." He smiled down at his thick workman's hands. "Still, it's not like she was looking to cook ol' Pete Smith's goose."

"I..." May sniffled and wiped her eyes with the tip of one finger. "I guess not..."

"No, you're right. She never knew it, and as far as I'm concerned she never will." He gave his head a slow, emphatic shake. "She wouldn't have had to do anything but exist, Miss May. She's just that kind of girl. But that's water long gone under the bridge." He got up and ran a light touch over May's blonde hair. "I bet Miss Rally's blowing off a little steam downstairs. Should we go see if she's ready to talk turkey?"

"Yeah." She smiled up at him. "I think it's about time we did."

* * *

"Not enough noise in here." Smith opened the door for May, who was cupping her hands around her ears. "I thought you'd be firing up a storm, Miss Rally."

"I was." She let her rifle stock rest on the floor beside her foot and pushed back her goggles and ear protectors. "Pete...um..."

He held up a hand. "Miss May, you want to take the lead, or shall I?"

"That depends." May looked at Rally with a whiff of cool reproof. "I hope you were about to apologize to him."

"Well, I guess that depends too." Rally stared out at the fragments of her target and folded her arms.

"He's got a proposal. Please listen to it—you are going to want to know this!"

"A proposal for turning Bean Bandit into a government informer?" She turned to look at Smith. "I don't know if May told you, but Bean's not in town any more. He left for Chicago this morning."

"I figured that, since he headed out so early." Smith shrugged. "So you're meeting him when you get home?"

Rally stared at May. "You didn't tell him what happened?"

Smith's eyes narrowed. "I haven't heard anything but a few hints. Miss May said this was your business."

"Yes, it is." Her lips trembled; she covered her mouth. Tell Smith all about her grief and heartbreak? Reveal what had happened this morning after he'd needled her the way he had? "You go first. Tell me what this deal is about."

"It's pretty simple, kid. Bean gives me some info, I arrange for his record to be erased. Everything that anyone's got on him goes under an immunity deal. I can cover the Federal end. Miss May told me something on the way down here that just might boost his chances with the Cook County police. So tell Bean from me that if he can see his way clear to do what I've asked him, I'll be able to help him on his way in turn. I'm happy to do what I can."

"Help him on his way where?" Rally stared at Smith. "What are you asking me to do?"

Smith's frown relaxed. "Miss Rally, I'm not demanding that you make mercenary use of something...that I realize has to be pretty damn profound if a guy with the Roadbuster's history could make any headway with you at all."

His voice went quiet, even a little softer in quality, and he laid one hand flat on the table next to the old AK-47. "Maybe you don't believe he'll ever stick strictly to the straight and narrow, but I figure you give him plenty of credit for what he could be someday. He never would have had a chance otherwise, right? And everything he's already done to help us out encourages me. Obviously you lit a fire under him in that respect, because he's made a damn good job of it over the last few weeks."

"Uh...um..."

Rally felt sick, but May's eyes looked bright.

"Wasn't I just mentioning that this morning?" She came over and squeezed Rally's arm. "Ral, you hearing this? Bean could get a pass from the FBI!"

"If...if I talk to him about it?" Rally held her churning stomach, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. "Ask him to break his most ironclad rules for a government pardon?"

"If he'll come around, Miss Rally, I think we can frame our questions in such a way that we won't need him to disclose anything he truly believes is off limits. Everything can be off the books if he prefers—it doesn't matter how he wants it done." Smith turned his palms up, almost with a pleading air. "I just want you to act as liaison. Grease the skids as much as you think you can. I know he doesn't cotton to pressure, even from a lady as lovely as you. But I'm retiring soon, and if this doesn't go through before the end of the year, I can't promise the offer's going to be renewed by my successor. I had to jaw the SAC into backing me on this, and it wasn't a cakewalk even taking Bean's valor into account. It's a delicate thing. I don't like to say now or never...but that's about the size of it, I'm afraid."

May's eyes moved from Smith to Rally and back again.

Rally said nothing, her head spinning. This was starting to sound...possible. An arrangement Bean might actually accept, however unbelievable that had seemed. Her breathing accelerated and her heart began to pound.

Smith seemed to search for words and went on in an almost tentative manner. "Look, I don't know exactly what terms you two finally arrived at, and it's not any of my business. I have no idea why he didn't come around more often after the rescue operation. I was a little surprised he didn't just walk in the front door of the hospital instead of hanging out in the parking lot all night, but obviously that's personal territory and I won't ask any questions. I do want you to know that the agents guarding you had specific instructions to let him in to see you wherever you were and not allow the SFPD to bother him while he was in your vicinity. The last thing they were there to do was keep him out."

"What?"

"Miss Rally, I swear it wasn't just because I thought it would be useful to the FBI if Bean wasn't prevented from talking to you." He flushed red. "I hope you can believe that. I thought it was going to happen a lot sooner than it did, but..." Smith looked deeply awkward and rubbed a hand over his face. "I guess something's well between you now, and I'm glad. This is one guy who's going to be rooting for both of you."

Rally bent over, now completely dizzy, and put her hand on her forehead. "Oh...God..." May rubbed her back and made soothing noises.

"What the hell's the matter with her?" Smith stood up straight and peered at her. "She gonna upchuck on my firing range?"

May put her cheek to the back of Rally's head and hugged her. "She didn't really have any breakfast, I guess...or a whole lot of sleep last night."

"Christ." He sighed. "Then let's go up to the cafeteria. Or I'll take you out to the Starbucks across the plaza—the coffee's at least drinkable there."

"No...God, no..." Rally's legs gave way and she slid to the rubber-matted floor.

"Hey! You all right?" Smith started and came closer; May cradled Rally's head against her round belly.

"Oh, God—why didn't you tell me about this sooner? Why didn't I know about it last night?"

"It just got put together, that's why. Before six this morning, I was still planning on locating that folder somehow. I didn't think I had to get quite this creative—Miss Rally, what's wrong?" Smith knelt beside her. "You still think he won't go for it?"

"Pete…he walked out on me. He said he wouldn't take me with him. I thought he'd never accept a hand up. Both of us were sure we could never be together..."

"Huh?" Smith glanced up at May. "What's she talking about?"

"I think she means...that if Bean had realized there was a way to turn his life around and stay with her, he might have done it." May put a hand over her mouth. "But he didn't know. And now he's gone."

"Yeah, gone back to Chicago. Where both of you live and work! What the hell? You'll see him in a week!"

"I might not see him for a year! Or even longer."

"What? Why?"

"The last thing Bean wants to do now is accidentally run into me. It would be awful for both of us. Or...or it would have been, and he's got no idea that could ever change!"

"Awful for you? You said you love the guy!" The blood left Smith's cheeks. "Oh, shit."

Rally gave a great sobbing gulp. "Yes, I love him. He loves me, I think...I know. So we tore each other's hearts out this morning. If it had only been sex, if we'd just been amusing ourselves, it wouldn't have mattered. But he wanted to protect me from the consequences of being the Roadbuster's lover. He didn't want me to ruin my life for his sake. So I guess he's ruined his instead..."

Smith was silent, his face frozen.

"Bean will take every out-of-state job he can. He's going to make himself as scarce as possible. He might even decide to quit operations and not hang around in Chicago at all…"

"How could he do that?" protested May. "He's got to work! If clients can get in touch with him, then you—"

"May, he just got more than twelve million dollars free and clear! If he's careful, he won't have to work for years."

"Oh, no..." whispered May.

"Exactly. If he can possibly manage it, he'll never meet me face to face again."

"That bad, huh?" said Smith.

Rally lowered her head; a tear released itself from her brimming eyes and ran down her cheek. "I…I think I probably gave him the idea…and he won't change his mind. I'm afraid...that there's no hope for us. No hope at all..."

Smith said nothing for a little while, still kneeling on the floor. May stood next to Rally, stroking her hair. Rally cried and clung to May, her face against May's stomach.

Under her cheek, she felt something stir: a tiny fluid wriggle. A little being floating in his watery cushion, steadily changing and growing in the dark warmth. Waiting to come forth and start his life when the time was right. He couldn't be hurried, but he also couldn't be delayed.

He would emerge when he was ready. Then he would open his eyes and ears, which until the moment of birth would have sensed no more than a faint hint of the world outside the walls of his snug shelter. What would he think of the sun?

"OK, who's hungry? I think I worked off my breakfast a couple of hours ago." Smith smacked his thighs and got up with a grunt and a hand on the table for assistance, then checked his watch. "Holy shit, it's almost ten. Where's the morning gone?"

* * *

"You're a bounty hunter, girl—you forgetting that? If anyone can track him down, you can." Smith ate ham and biscuits in the booth of a diner down the street from the Federal Building while Rally slowly worked on a chicken sandwich. May sipped a smoothie and swung her feet. "You'll find that man double-quick—he sticks out a mile anyway. Heck, you might even catch up to him on the road!"

"I doubt that. But thanks for the professional endorsement." Rally gave a faint smile.

"No worries there. He'd have to take some pretty elaborate measures to stay that well hidden." Smith shook his head and crammed his mouth with a butter-soaked biscuit. He ate almost as fast as Bean did, though in somewhat lesser quantity.

Rally thought of her father's underground life and gave an even fainter smile. "I guess so."

"Say, I think I have a message for you." Smith washed down his mouthful with coffee and stuck his cup out for a refill when the waitress came by with the pot. "Thanks, doll."

"Oh? Who from?"

"Well, that's a question. I got this message given to me a while ago, but I never delivered it. So I figure I'd better give it back to you." He sweetened his coffee, rolled the little blue paper packet between finger and thumb and flicked it across the table.

"Huh?"

Smith cleared his throat. "As I recall, it went something like this: 'Tell him I said there's always hope. Of one kind or another.'" He put a fork in his last slice of ham.

Rally's mouth dropped open.

"He turned up not too long after you said that to me, Miss Rally, as I'm sure you remember. Young Mr. Sam said you told him Bean always seemed to be around wherever you were, and that you didn't think that was going to change." He glanced up. "Anything different now?"

Her lips trembled. "Yes, things are different...but...maybe you're right. At least...about the hope."

"I'm not taking credit, girl. Your own words, and wise ones at that."

"Feeling any better now, Ral?" May squeezed her arm. "I think your blood sugar must have been pretty low. Hey, finish your milk!"

Nourishment had improved her outlook a little; at least she no longer felt shaky and weak. Rally nodded and dutifully ate more chicken sandwich. "Yes, Mom."

"You keep me posted on that baby, you hear?" Smith nodded at May. "I want an account of every burp and nap."

"You want to stand godfather, Pete?" May giggled and slurped through her straw.

"Why the hell not? I might have to split the duties with Detective Coleman, I guess. Sounds like he's not a complete tightass, even if he is such a good Catholic boy."

"Not a tightass?"

"I told Pete about the parking lot and the box of fried chicken." May raised her brows. "Did Roy see Bean before he left? He was talking a little funny the whole afternoon at the mall."

"Yes, he did—and yes, he told Bean about being the cop who found him." Rally took a deep breath. "Roy said Bean should look him up when he got home…"

"I thought it must have been something like that." May beamed. "See, that might work out really well! For the deal, I mean. If Roy were willing to handle some things in Chicago and talk to people…"

"…then it could go through pretty fast and Bean would be safe from arrest and free to start over in some other—" Rally put her sandwich down. "I…I'm talking like this could really happen."

"Yeah, because it could! Imagine it, Rally—you could be together! You wouldn't have to hide anything, you wouldn't have to worry about Bean's work, you'd be able to—"

"To watch our backs 24/7 because of gangs with old grudges against him? Maybe some new grudges when they start getting mowed down by the FBI and put two and two together?"

"And this is different from your life now in what respect?" May rolled her eyes.

"Well…OK." Despite herself, Rally smiled. "Uh…this is taking some getting used to..."

Smith looked at her with an almost compassionate expression, swept a biscuit around his plate to sop up the last drops of gravy and stuffed it into his face. "There, there," he said with a full mouth. His cell phone rang; he picked it up from the table. "Smith...sorry, gimme a sec." He took a swig of coffee, put a credit card on the table and moved towards the door of the diner. "'Scuse me, girls. Got to take this one." He cupped a hand over one ear. "Yeah? So what time yesterday was this?"

Rally looked over at May. "I'm sorry. I've been putting everyone through the wringer today just because I was feeling..."

"It's OK, I forgive you. So does Pete."

"It's Pete now?"

"Uh-huh. Gosh, Rally, you never told me what a teddy bear he really is. Such a sweet guy!" May beamed.

"Sweet?" Rally almost laughed. Sarcastic, crude, prejudiced Pete Smith? "That's going a little farther than I would. But you're right—he might have started out by dismissing me, but he ended up backing me with all his heart. Kind of shocking at the time!"

"Was it?" May looked at her through her lashes.

"Yes, it was. I thought he'd reverted to form today, and thank goodness he hadn't. But you know...he does seem just a little funny." She shook her head and finished her milk. "Want to hit the ladies' room?"

"I am feeling better, kind of." Rally blew her nose and examined herself in the mirror over the bathroom sink. Swollen eyes and dark circles to go with plenty of other signs of strain and grief. "But God, I look like shit." She opened her purse and refreshed her makeup.

"You're beautiful. Amazingly gorgeous. Honey, every time you turn around someone else succumbs." With a half-smile, May opened a stall door.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just buttering you up." She winked and shut the door.

"Whatever you say." Rally shook her head and applied lipstick.

They joined Smith outside and walked back down to the Federal Building, dodging some anti-government picketers at the main entrance. They returned to the firing range where Rally had left her weapons; she cleaned her CZ75 and holstered it.

Smith drew his ten-millimeter from his shoulder holster, putting it on the table next to the battered AK-47. "Before you pack the rifle away, let me shoot a few rounds with you." He picked up the AK-47.

"Sure—I'd be honored. That one's yours?"

"Yep." He grinned, brandishing the rifle as if posing for a picture. "Genuine battlefield booty from the 'Nam, taken off a dead gook—uh, Vietcong soldier. Brings back memories."

Combat fatigues and dog tags must have suited him very well. "You liked the Army, huh?"

"Like is not the word." He shook his head. "The Army made me what I am, I'll give you that much. I'm grateful I got through my tour alive and relatively intact." A shadow passed over his face and he put the rifle down. "I guess I won't be seeing you gals again unless one of us happens to drift by the other's home town."

"I guess so. Unless you plan to retire to Chicago!"

"With those Midwest winters freezing my bones? I'm a Southern boy." Smith rolled his eyes and busied himself with filling the AK-47's magazine. "Try Fort Lauderdale instead. I've got my eye on a condo by the beach."

"Hey, we could take a vacation in Florida next time!" May laughed.

"Next time? You mean us with Ken and Junior." Rally looked over at May.

"Well...yeah, I guess so." May's smile wilted just a little. "But that would be fun too."

Smith bent and took a battered ammo box from the cart. "Gosh, what could be in this little ol' package here?" He put the box on the table with a thump, unlatched the lid and displayed a neat stack of assorted US Army grenades. "Well, I'll be hornswoggled. Who could make good use of these, do you think?" He winked at May.

May squealed and jumped up and down. "Are those for ME? Oooh! Oooh!"

"Happy explosions, kid." He smiled and gestured to May. "All above board. I've put these down as reimbursement in kind for supplies consumed during a government operation. We haven't forgotten how you helped take care of 426, and we're grateful."

"Aw, it was my pleasure! Thank you so much!" May hugged the ammo box and gave it a kiss. "Ooh, this is heavy..." She put it down and festooned the carrying hooks and loops inside her jacket with flash grenades and frag bombs, giggling.

"Ooh! White phosphorus! Those are sooo cute!"

"Pete, you're a generous man." Rally laughed.

"Yeah, well, least I could do. Comes out of my budget." He picked up a rifle bag from the table and unzipped it. Out of it he lifted a bolt-action hunting piece, a vintage Winchester Model 70.

"Wow—that's a pre-'64, isn't it? Nice rifle!"

Smith hefted it with an air of pleasure. "It's a pre-war, Miss Rally. Made in 1940. It was my pappy's, and my grandpappy's before that. They bagged a lot of venison with this and even a few bear—not always in season, mind you. Here, take a look."

He held it out to Rally on his palms. She took it with admiration; this was a well-made old gun that had been taken care of during its long life. It wasn't decorated or customized and it showed signs of hard use, but there wasn't a speck of rust on the worn blued metal and the stock gleamed with the patina of years. She worked the bolt, then turned and sighted at the target through the scope; the rifle felt balanced despite its length, and she felt sure it was supremely accurate. With a slow squeeze to the trigger, she took a dry shot and felt the oiled parts click together in perfect harmony.

"That's a beautiful family heirloom." She lowered the rifle and offered it back to him. "You must be proud to own it."

"And I'm proud to pass it on, Miss Rally." He gestured to her. "I hope you'll accept it."

"P-Pete?"

"I've got no kids, and my kin are all city folks or trailer trash who would let it rust in a closet. I want someone to appreciate that piece, and I can't think of anyone I've ever known who'll appreciate it more than you."

"But I—"

He put a hand on hers where it clasped the rifle stock and closed her fingers over it. "Please."

This princely gift couldn't be refused; she saw something in Smith's eyes that gave her a lump in the throat. "Oh, Pete—thank you. I..."

"I got a whole box of ought-six right here. Try it out."

"I'd love to. Thank you. This is so sweet of you!" She gave him a big smile, and then shifted the rifle to one hand and hugged him with the other arm. He straightened up, patted her shoulder and moved away.

"You're welcome."

May watched them, her expression oddly sober.

"Thanks for taking it. I know it'll be in the best of hands." He looked down at his feet, thrust his hands in his pockets and scuffed a shoe. "Anyway, I figured you'd prefer this to something like flowers and jewelry."

"Jewelry? You bet! Oh, gosh—that reminds me." Rally put the rifle on the table, reached for her purse and took out the sapphire earrings. "I wanted to turn these in to you." She unwrapped the tissue and held them out.

Smith leaned over to look at them. "What? Why?"

"Hey!" May put her arms akimbo and glowered at Rally. "What are you doing?"

"I'm delivering some of Brown's stray property to the FBI. What does it look like I'm doing?" She thrust the earrings at Smith. "Take them, please. They were bought with—"

"No way, sister." Smith put up a hand and stepped back. "Those are yours. Even if there was some question about that, I know who gave them to you and I'm not at all interested in pissing him off."

"What?"

"Larry Sam took me aside during the party after Bean got there. He showed me those sapphires wrapped in a dirty bandanna and wanted to know what he should do. I told him what they were and that he should do just what Bean told him to do—give 'em to you." He shook his head. "I'm a little surprised at you, Miss Rally. Why wouldn't you take a nice present from your guy when he went to such trouble to pass them on to you?"

"But…"

"You want me to sign something with a Federal logo on it? Keep them." He waved her away with a laugh. "Jesus, I have to say that more than once? What kind of girl are you?"

"Well…I sort of hoped, an honest one…" Rally looked down. The sapphires winked at her like a pair of sparkling blue eyes; the small diamonds that framed them were points of white fire in the cool fluorescent lighting.

"As honest as the day is long, Miss Rally. Let it rest."

"See?" said May. "They're yours!"

"Um...gosh." Rally touched one of the settings with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Mine?"

"You really didn't think of them that way, huh?" May grinned and looked at Smith. "See, she likes jewelry after all!"

"Well, sure I like them." She smiled tentatively at the sapphires. She owned them. They were really hers...and Bean had given them to her. Suddenly they looked ten times more beautiful than she had ever let herself realize. "I never said I didn't."

"You know, um, I hear those look like they were meant to adorn you and no one else." Smith gave an odd sheepish grin. "I was wondering if I'd ever get to see you wear them."

"That's a hint, Rally." May giggled. "I want to see too!"

"Oh, good grief!" Rally closed her hand on the earrings to squelch the temptation. "Did Roy tell you that?"

"As a matter of fact, he did. And we found we could agree on a couple of points after all. Such as, that you deserve the prettiest things any man could buy for you." He flushed slightly and rolled his eyes.

"Uh...really?" Rally's eyes darted to May, who was looking a little strange again.

"Really what? That you're a beautiful girl, or that an FBI agent and a city cop could agree about anything?" Smith folded his arms with a faint grin. "I think a lot of men could come to the same conclusion. Not to mention one underground courier whose good taste usually gets exercised only in the area of vehicular transportation. Apparently he saw you wearing 'em too."

May pursed her lips in a silent whistle.

"Midnight-blue Corvette," murmured Rally with a sigh. She clipped on each earring in turn and brushed her hair back, then turned her head from side to side and laughed self-deprecatingly. "OK, I've put them on. Am I dazzling?"

"Gosh, those are pretty!" May came closer to examine them and put a hand on Rally's shoulder. "They do match your eyes—that's just amazing."

She expected Smith to chuckle or perhaps make some comment on women's vanity, but he was silent. When she looked at him, she was startled to see nothing but open admiration. He slowly shook his head as if words were insufficient.

"Damn."

"Gosh, Pete, they're just rocks!" Feeling very self-conscious, Rally took the earrings off and tucked them into her purse again. "I'm going to have to get a box for these, I guess."

"I wasn't really looking at the...ahem." Smith cleared his throat and turned to the weapons again. "Well, I got my old Commie boom stick, and you got that Winchester. Want to make a little noise with 'em?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

May put her hands over her ears and watched while Smith and Rally tore up targets. The sharp crack of the AK-47 and the heavy reports of the rifle mingled and bounced off the walls. When the last shell casing had hit the floor, Rally turned to Smith.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" He popped his magazine and laid his weapon down.

"Why do you want to do that for Bean? Give him immunity?"

"I told you. I need his help."

"No, this is above and beyond that. Way beyond. There's something else going on." She turned to face him. "Pete, be honest with me. Does this have anything to do with...personal reasons?"

Smith went red and shot a look at May, who made a tiny shake of her head and looked a little panicky. "What do you mean, Miss Rally?"

Rally stared at them. Did this have anything to do with that odd mood he had been sitting on? Or what May seemed to keep hinting at? Did they have some kind of conspiracy going on between them?

"I mean that no matter how good you think Bean's information might be, complete immunity from prosecution—and working with a city detective to help that come about—is not something the FBI does every day. Like, never." She took a deep breath. "Pete, I was starting to wonder—"

"Yes, there are personal reasons. As a matter of fact." Smith looked embarrassed and May seemed very surprised. "Some of 'em are pretty near and dear to my heart."

"Pete?" Rally's eyes went wide.

He looked over her head and his expression relaxed. "If you don't mind, I'll tell you a little story. By way of explanation."

"...All right."

"Way back when, in a little place in the Georgia backwoods...there was a kid who liked fast cars." He smiled; May puffed out a breath and leaned against the wall. "That kid, he didn't have much education, he didn't talk too good, but he figured he could get somewhere anyhow if he could just drive there fast enough."

He spoke now in an easy drawl, his voice going slow, with a richer timbre. "So he learned himself everythin' he could about workin' under the hood an' behind the wheel. An' when he got to be a little older, he realized he'd got damn good at both, better'n most folks. So he got himself a job in a garage makin' hot rods. But that didn't pay so well even if he liked the work. 'Long about 1965 he fixed up a Mustang he'd bought wrecked, put in a 427 he'd heated up as much as he knew how, an' he started makin' deliveries on the side."

"Deliveries?"

"Yep, deliveries. Stuff that needed to get there fast an' no questions asked." Smith brought his gaze down to her, sly mischief dancing in his eyes.

"W-wait a minute...you didn't haul illegal cargoes and outrun the cops in that fast Mustang of yours!" Rally's jaw dropped open at his expression. "Pete?"

"Moonshine an' Mary Jane, to be exact. Not fer all thet long, Ah'll admit. Ah got out of the rackets an' quit smokin' reefer 'fore Ah got arrested or did anythin' too untoward." He scratched the back of his head with an air of amused guilt; May's eyes bulged out and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

"You quit...before it was too late."

"Mostly 'cause Ah got mah ass drafted into the 'Nam and didn't have no choice in the matter, but Ah might've done it anyhow. Ah was a shit-kickin' cracker, sho' nuf, but Ah wasn't dumb."

He met her gaze with keen steel-blue eyes; she caught a glimpse of something she had often seen under the well-worn lines of his face. She owed a lot to that independent will, that touch of wildness still burning in him even after serving so many years under discipline. This wasn't a man who had ever let anyone else make his most important rules for him.

"You were just like him..." No wonder he and Bean had always seemed like two of a kind. She had a vivid picture of a stocky, muscular young man with a brown crewcut and a pack of cigarettes rolled in the sleeve of his T-shirt. Leaning on the hood of that hot-rod Mustang. "Oh, Pete. I guess...I should have known."

"Uh-huh. I want to give that guy a hand up, because a long time ago someone gave me a hand up and told me to pass it along. Otherwise I wouldn't be talking to you now." He laughed. "If anyone deserves a break from a guy like me, it's Bean Bandit. Now there's another story I want to tell you, one I just heard."

"Oh?"

"You recollect the Sam banquet? That donation box they had for the victims and families?"

"Sure I do. Roy put in a big check."

"Did he? Well, good for him." Smith chuckled. "Though I'm afraid that would have been just a drop in the bucket."

"It was five grand!" said May with indignation. "That's not peanuts!"

He shook his head. "That call I got at the diner was about the victims' fund. The organizers pulled in about fifty grand at the party and figured they were in for a long slog. They were hoping for maybe half a million over a year's time. Enough to hand out ten or twenty grand for each death or disability, which might pay for a couple of months of rehab or living expenses. But they got a big windfall today." He spoke casually, but with an undertone that told Rally he was fishing for something. "An order of magnitude more than their goal. Plus."

"Wow—some soft-hearted billionaire came through? That's great!" Rally pumped her fists in the air. "Or was it a grant from a foundation?"

"No, it was an anonymous donor." Smith folded his arms and kept a level stare into her eyes. "He called 'em up yesterday for info and followed through this morning."

"Anonymous?" She blinked in some confusion and appealed to May. "What, you think I can tell you who it was? I don't know any local fat cats—"

"Who do you think it was?" May narrowed her eyes.

"You tell me. This person wanted to know a lot of specifics on their spending plan and their tax status. A savvy customer with financials, apparently. A couple of volunteers spent about an hour on the phone getting him the details. He said something about a partnership, and he told them he'd probably be wiring them some dough...when he confirmed it with the other partner." Smith put a hand on the table and leaned forward. "Yeah, they assumed they were talking to someone from a dot-com or a foundation. They thought maybe this organization would come through with ten or twenty grand. You know what was in their account when they turned on their computers at nine A.M. this morning?"

"No, what?"

"You sure you don't have any inside information, Miss Rally? Now's the time to tell me."

"Oh, my gosh," said May. "Rally—a partnership?"

"Huh? What does that have to do with—oh, MAN!" She yelped and clapped her hands to her cheeks, which suddenly burned like fire. "Would the amount happen to have been…something over six million bucks?"

"Six million, two hundred and twenty-three thousand, one hundred and five United States dollars. To be exact." Smith smacked the table. "Why didn't you say anything to me, girl?"

"Because I didn't know!" Rally threw out her arms in a helpless gesture. "I just did a little simple arithmetic. Half and half!"

"What?"

"That's how I proposed to split the suitcase full of cash, right when it all started. Half for Bean, half for me. And I told him I wasn't going to keep drug money for myself." Her mind whirled; her eyes felt dazzled and her knees shook. "My share was going to go to help the fight. So that's...exactly where...he sent it."

She groped for a chair and sat down.

May jumped up and down. "Six million dollars? Bean sent them SIX MILLION? Oh, Rally—he's a PRINCE!"

"Y-yeah...that's pretty darn generous of him..." A glorious symphonic roar filled Rally's head. "But of course...it was according to the rules."

Rally held a hand to her pounding heart. What had Bean been doing this morning? He hadn't fallen to pieces. He'd scrupulously observed their original agreement, and he'd given away more money than he would probably earn in another ten years.

For her: and for the people whose suffering he'd seen and shared just as she had. Just because he didn't wear his compassion on his sleeve didn't mean he couldn't feel it in his heart. She would never underestimate him again. Bean had given her a gift more perfect than any she had ever received, no matter how beautiful or well meant. It didn't matter why or how. It only mattered that he was himself.

"I love you," she whispered to the air. "Oh, God, I love you."

"So Bean didn't tell you? Miss Rally—"

"He didn't have to tell me." She looked up at Smith with a radiant smile. "I told him what I'd do with that money if I had it. The terms were all agreed on a long time ago. He never goes back on a handshake."

"That's pretty damn far to go—six million? I thought this guy liked money. Most people would like that kind of money way too well to let it go so easy."

"Most people would, but not Bean. He squares his accounts. To the last penny." Rally closed her eyes and hugged herself. She wanted so much to hold Bean in her arms right now that for a moment she almost felt his embrace. The warmth of his spirit surrounded her. "Money is money. It washes itself clean..." May came over and hugged her too; she was laughing through her tears.

"Steal from the mob and give to the poor, huh?" Smith shook his head, but he was smiling too. "After drawing off a fifty percent finder's fee, that is. I wonder if he's already found himself a new vocation."

"I think I could see my way clear to backing him up on that one. Speaking of finder's fees..."

"No, I didn't forget that either. Your name's down for a percentage of the stuff we got from the boat. We're talking government procedures, so it could be a while before you see any of it. But what you do with it is up to you, I guess."

"Thank you, Pete."

"No, thank you. I'm glad I got to know you, Miss Rally. Just working with you for a few weeks...well, enough about that."

She reached out and clasped his hand. If a man like Smith could survive to retirement age with his essentials intact...he was a hope personified, proof that a way forward existed for anyone. "I don't ever want to lose touch with you."

"Ditto." He patted her hand and released it. "Keep me posted on everything, please, and I do mean everything. I'd take it very kindly."

"Just try and stop me." Rally got up and kissed his cheek. Smith closed his eyes for a moment, then smiled at her.

"Let's get you girls packed up. The sooner you're on the road, the sooner you'll get where you're going. Here, Miss May—you let me carry that ammo box. A lady in your condition doesn't need to be doing any heavy lifting."

In the parking garage, Smith and Rally stowed all the weapons and explosives in the Cobra's trunk. She locked it, and Smith put out his hand to shake hers.

"You call me any time. If you need some info or a word in someone's ear, you've got it."

"Actually..."

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you might be able to dig up any information on...someone else. There's no big hurry. I just wanted to mention him."

"Give me some details." Smith half-closed his eyes.

"Well, he's been in the Chicago area for a long time. His reputation now might be as a hitman. Um, he was associated with the Goldie Musou gang for several months. Sort of her chief of staff and bodyguard. And...her executioner. But now he's gone solo...he's doing odd jobs to survive, and he's sworn off anything to do with killing. Still, he's got that on his record, and I don't know if there's anything anyone can do about it." She swallowed hard. "Maybe you already know who I mean."

"Maybe I do, if his nom de guerre is Mr. V. Short for Vincent." Smith rubbed his chin. "Yeah, I was wondering if you'd ever bring him up. Didn't like to unless you asked."

"Then you know about my Daddy?"

"A little." He made a tight grimace. "He's been pretty deep underground. I found out about him a couple of weeks ago, and yes, I've been looking for more. What there is of it."

"I know...that it's not likely he can ever go straight again."

"We are talking about a different order of things from running illegal cargoes, kid." Smith looked sorrowful. "But I'll find out what I can. I'd like to think there's a road back for everyone."

"I hope so. Thank you for finding one for Bean. I think miracles can happen sometimes."

"Yeah, when you take the bit in your teeth and make 'em happen. You tell him about the deal the first time you get hold of him, you hear me?"

"I promise I will."

"You're authorized to employ extraordinary measures in the cause. If that man tries to abscond when he sees you coming, tell him from me that he's a coward."

"Coward?"

"He's got something for the asking that men lie, cheat and steal for and still may never get in a lifetime. What I'm offering is better than money, because this is to let him have something that money could never have bought. All he's got to do is reach out and pick it up."

"You mean...a chance to go straight?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean." He shook her hand again with a smile. "Godspeed. We'll meet again."

"Of course we will. Goodbye, Pete." She gave him a hug, climbed behind the wheel and pulled out of the Federal Building's garage for the last time. In the rear-view mirror as she emerged into the bright day, she saw Smith with his right hand raised in farewell.

* * *

"This isn't how you get to the freeway, Rally! You need me to navigate?" May held up a map.

"No, I know where I'm heading…it's just a quick detour." Rally turned and headed southeast.

"Um…the waterfront?" May folded her map and grimaced at the passing brick warehouses. "Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh. I need to take one more look…and there was one other thing I needed to do before I blew this city." She pulled to the curb when a car left a metered space. "We'll have to walk a couple of blocks, I guess, since there's no place to park nearby with all the construction vehicles in the way." They exited the car and crossed the street, heading towards two large open spaces that faced each other. One on land, one on the water; the burned warehouse had been torn down and the bricks cleared away, and the pier's destruction had left no traces at all. Even the flanking gatehouses were gone.

Posted by the construction fence that surrounded the pier's former grounds, a security guard looked up as they approached and made a gesture to halt them. "Sorry, girls. Too hazardous for sightseeing."

"Hi! I'm Rally Vincent." Rally extended her hand, and the man straightened up with a startled expression.

"Wow! I shoulda recognized you from the news…and you're Minnie-May, right?" He grinned and shook hands. "Hey, you ladies investigating the scene of the crime? Not much left, but take all the time you want." He unlocked the gate for them. They walked between the bare patches of earth and looked out over the bay. The sky was clear, the breeze cool, and the gentle waves lapped at the sea wall with a sound like murmuring voices. Rally opened her purse and took out a box of candles and four small boats made of red and gold paper.

"What's that?" asked the guard.

"Larry gave those to you?" May unfolded the boats while Rally dug a book of matches out of her purse.

"Uh-huh. They're to help guide the souls of the dead to the next life…or something. I kind of liked the idea, anyway." The guard showed them a ladder that led down to a small floating wooden dock in the shadow of the next pier; they descended to the water and sat on the dock. Rally struck a match and cupped the tiny flame in her hand. May helped her place a lit candle in each of the little paper boats, and together they launched them into the bay. The boats bobbed and rocked in the waves, slowly making headway.

"Have you heard about Manny's plea bargain?" said May. "Reduction to manslaughter and five years in the pen, in exchange for testimony."

"Sounds about right to me." Rally folded her arms with her eyes still on the boats and candles; she noticed a few broken bits of charred wood floating beside the dock. "The poor kid…"

"Hmm? Tiffany?" May grimaced. "I guess she won't get to see him for a while. If ever."

"At least she won't have any problem finding out exactly where her Daddy is." Rally gave a short laugh and shook herself. "Maybe Sarah Brown will wait for him. But I guess she's sort of been in jail herself for the last five or six years..."

"Maybe."

They watched the boats until they had drifted out into the clear area once covered by the Dragon pier. Sun glittered off the water, flinging bright shards of light into her eyes; the candle flames were invisible now, but when they ascended the ladder to return to the car Rally could still see the four little red craft, sailing together into a great expanse of green water.

"May, start making a list. Bean's contacts, everyone we can think of. Chicago, New York—and I can give you some West Coast info too."

"Good, let's get systematic!" May took out a notebook and tapped it with a pencil point. "All right, I'll put down all of his clients. I wonder how long he can stay away from the business! I'd bet you he'll set up shop somewhere pretty soon under another name."

"I'd bet that too. It's not like he does it only for the money!" Rally powered up an on-ramp and slipped into a gap in traffic. The skyscrapers of downtown San Francisco rose up to their right, shining in the sunlight.

"Nice view…" May glanced up from her notebook. "This really is a pretty city."

"Uh-huh." Rally looked over her shoulder and let a few of her memories of San Francisco sink under the surface in favor of more buoyant thoughts. "Maybe…I'll come back some day. See the Sams and do a little touring around."

"On vacation? Boy, I've had enough vacation to last me years! I can't wait to do some WORK!" May laughed and kept writing. "What was the name of that guy who wanted to hire Bean to help him move house, and Bean thought it had to be a joke, and then it turned out most of the load was grow-lights for a pot farm in the basement?"

"Oh, Rick or Ricky or something…I'll have to go through my files when we get home." Rally yawned and shifted gears.

"You look awfully tired, sweetie. How much actual sleep did you get last night? Maybe three hours?"

"Something like that." Rally rubbed her eyes with the fingers of one hand. "In bits."

"How can you drive eight hours on three hours of sleep? I'd be dead!"

"Hey, you'll be doing things on not a lot of sleep when Junior comes along. People must manage somehow."

"I guess. But I know it'll take some getting used to…"

"I'll be OK." Rally yawned again. "Just keep the conversation going and I won't get too drowsy."

"If you do, let's just stop for a while so you can take a nap. There isn't any huge hurry."

"May, we're going to L.A. to meet Ken! Why wouldn't you be in a hurry?"

"Oh, just because." May reached out and touched Rally's right hand. "It occurs to me…that this is probably the last day we'll have together."

"What?"

"By the time Kenny's job in Hollywood is finished, I'll be almost ready. Junior will be ready, I mean. I'll be a mommy before you know it...and like you said, I'll be functioning on no sleep and lots of dirty diapers! We're probably not going to have another chance to be together. Just you and me and no one else."

"Things change." Rally gave a sad little shrug and squeezed May's hand. "I guess you're right."

They finished their list and May turned on the radio. For a while they listened to music and traffic reports while Rally drove the curving freeway through golden hills interspersed with golf courses, suburbs and groves of oak trees. Traffic lightened and fell away to almost nothing. She watched seagulls spiral above a lake in a long valley and wispy tongues of fog venture over the ridges from the coast. The radio's reception finally fizzled out among the hills and Rally turned it off.

"Uh, May...it's the days right before your period that you're not fertile, right?"

"Hmm?" May looked up from reading the manual for her new digital camera.

"The last eight days or so of your cycle. You told me that, didn't you?"

May blinked. "Your fertile days? When's it due?"

"Friday."

"And you, uh, obviously have some reason to inquire." She cocked her head and raised a brow. "You telling me something slipped off in the heat of the moment?"

"No...we didn't use anything. He was going to run out for condoms, and I stopped him. I know, it was stupid—but it seemed like a good risk to take at the time."

"Whoa. Bareback the whole way? That must have been a pretty hot ride! Oh, Rally." May shook her head. "Rally, Rally..."

"What?"

"If it's due on Friday..." She gave a heavy sigh.

"Oh, shit! I got it wrong! I knew it! Oh, SHIT!" Rally banged her forehead on the steering wheel. "Aggh! I'm going to have BABIES! Gigantic, black-haired babies with feet like—"

May shrieked with laughter. "Sorry! Joke! You're safe as houses, sweetheart."

"I am?"

"Yep! Don't worry. But next time use something, for crying out loud! You want expert birth control advice, you got it right here." She patted Rally's thigh. "Call me! Like every day! I want to hear every gory detail."

"Next time? What next time?"

"There _will_ be a next time. A thousand next times." May leaned forward. "Rally, you don't honestly think he's going to stay away from you. No man would have the strength."

"Bean? I don't think the human average applies."

"No, I guess it doesn't. Which means when HE'S in love, it isn't fireworks and cannons, it's ballistic missiles and H-bombs—hey, speaking of ballistic, what's his statistics, anyway?"

"His statistics?"

"You know—how much he's got! I'm dying of curiosity!" May waggled her brows. "He sure has a fully-stocked meat counter, but since I never got hold of it hard—"

"WHAT?"

"Oh, he didn't tell you about that? Tsk tsk—and I'm sure you asked about his history beforehand!" She gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. "It was such a brief, clandestine encounter..."

Rally bared her teeth at May. "No teasing! He wouldn't sleep with YOU for—"

"Geez, pay attention to the road, why don't you? Look how JEALOUS you are!" May laughed.

"You're darn tootin' I'm jealous—if I ever see him messing with another woman the way he did with Sue Wojohowicz, I'm going to scalp him!" Rally growled and worked her fingers on the steering wheel.

"Good! He deserved scalping! But of course Bean didn't sleep with me—I'm talking about when he had to pose as a john to get me and Tiffany out of the Dragon whorehouse."

"You had to put on an act?" Rally looked suspiciously at May. "And the horndog really got into it, right?"

"Hell no! He couldn't get away fast enough—I think I terrified him."

"Really?"

"Yep! Nothing doing. Rally, you're calling HIM a horndog? You know what? I think he must have some kind of thing in his past—he sure gets some heavy trauma about anyone thinking he might like to molest women."

"Well, uh, yeah, I noticed that too." Rally gulped. "Actually, he told me some things...well, I'd need his permission to give you details, but you're right. Which of course means he doesn't do anything that might be scary without checking first."

"Aw, that's so sweet. I can just see this great big guy politely asking if he can rip your clothes off and ravage you senseless!"

"Something like that." Rally blushed. "It's, uh, actually pretty sexy..."

"Of course it is! Right then when he came to get me out of the Pink Pearl, I think I might have let him do whatever he wanted if he'd wanted it! I love the guy, OK? But he's yours, one hundred percent. As far as I'm concerned, he deserves you. And coming from me—that's saying something."

"Oh."

"So what's he got? Eight inches? Ten? C'mon!"

"You think I keep a yardstick under my pillow? I wouldn't care if he had TWO inches!" Rally suddenly grinned and wriggled in her seat. "As long as he still had a tongue..."

"Oooh! This I GOTTA hear!"

"Well, I remember you asked me once if he had technique. I think I figured out what you meant. Six or seven times."

"And he passes the clitmus test with flying colors! Wow, I wonder if that's got anything to do with how much he likes to EAT! Can you spell 'oral fixation'?" May whooped with laughter.

"May, that's just...gross! Oh, I wanted to ask you—where's the G-spot supposed to be?"

"You think he found yours?"

"Well, if that wasn't it...I'd sure like to know what it is!"

"Ooh, ooh, I'm a love machine...and I don't work for nobody but you..." crooned May. "No wonder he kept you going till the wee hours! OK, see, if this is your pussy..." She demonstrated with a finger thrust into her fist. Rally kept one eye on the road and asked technical questions all through Silicon Valley.

* * *

"Wow, look at all these cool old cars!" Rally looked into her rear-view mirror; they had turned onto an undivided country highway on the way out to the valley and I-5, and she had acquired a long train behind her. Every one was a pre-1974 American model. "You think it's a car club outing or something? There sure are a lot of classics on the road in California, but this has to be the most I've seen all at once."

"Looks like it." May pointed at a sign next to a sagging barn. "Ooh, let's stop here!"

"Oh, good grief. We've barely been driving ninety minutes and you want to get off at Casa de Fruitloop?"

"Casa de Fruta," corrected May. "Yes, I do! I've got to pee. Junior's sitting heavy on my bladder these days."

"All right, in that case…"

"We need snacks for the drive anyway, and they have a candy store and this incredible fruit stand. It's cute! You'll like it!"

"I don't do cute." Rally rolled her eyes, but turned off at the exit. The classics all followed suit. The place sat in a little valley just below the highway, a series of quaint buildings strung out along the frontage road and interspersed with parking lots. Many of the spaces were occupied, some with current models, but two of the lots near the picnic area were thickly parked with classics. "Casa de Coffee? Casa de Deli? Oh, please."

"Hey, it's got to be a perfect meeting place for these old guys with old cars. Nice drive on the way, and plenty of eats when you get there! Look, there's a space."

Packards, Studebakers, Corvettes, Mustangs, Barracudas. Everywhere she looked, she saw gleaming chrome, tail fins and muscle cars. Her own Shelby Cobra hardly stood out at all in such company. Rally pulled up next to a display of old farm machinery painted in bright colors. Children climbed to the seats and pretended to drive the tractors and harrows while their parents took pictures. Across another parking lot she glimpsed a tiny excursion train packed with tourists. It rattled through a wooded area full of artificial ponds and slightly shabby model buildings like a home-made miniature golf course.

"Oh, man...May, this place is so cheesy I could spread it on crackers!"

"Whatever! Just go admire some cars while I'm shopping." May jumped out of the car and a blast of music entered from outside. "I know where the bathrooms are, so I'll run over—oh, hey."

"What?" Rally got out and shut the door. "Is that their sound system? Do they think we're all deaf?"

"No...uh, it's a radio." May looked shocked, and pointed.

"A radio? At that volume? What a jerk—guys like that really ought to—" She spotted what May was pointing at.

"_Well, I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed  
That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed,  
I ain't ready for the altar but I do agree there's times  
When a woman sure can be a friend of mine..."_

All she could see of him, thirty yards away, was a pair of mile-long blue-jeaned legs. One was drawn up, and the other stuck straight out onto the blacktop as Bean lounged in the driver's seat of his L-88 Corvette. His boot heel rested on the ground next to a boom box with enormous speakers, the source of the loud music. He shifted, planted his feet and sat forward with an extra-large iced Coke and a sack of burgers in his hand. One of the burgers vanished into his mouth almost as soon as he unwrapped it; he chased it with half the Coke and another burger.

"Oh...my...God." May looked up at her.

"Yeah, I'll second that." Rally's voice was high and faint; she could not control her breathing well enough to speak calmly. May took her arm for support.

"Does this, uh, remarkable coincidence suggest anything to you?"

"He...he couldn't be expecting us to come through here...he probably thinks we're hundreds of miles to the south already." She closed her eyes for a moment and fought down an attack of dizziness. All of her fatigue seemed to catch up with her at once.

"Yeah, if we'd left earlier."

"This is the only place in miles where you can get a hot meal and a cold drink...but he ought to be in Reno by now! This is crazy...I'm hallucinating!"

"There, there, sweetie." May gave her a hug around the waist. "Rally…he's here. It's not a dream. It's really him…"

"_Well, I keep on thinking 'bout you, Sister Golden Hair surprise  
And I just can't live without you; can't you see it in my eyes?  
I been one poor correspondent  
and I been too, too hard to find  
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind..." _

Rally stood trembling in the circle of May's little arms, words and images jumbling through her mind. She'd promised to tell Bean about the deal the next time she saw him. In several months or even a year, when the acute edge of desire might have blunted a little, when the mere sight of him didn't send arrows through her heart. Was her love ever going to ache less than it did right now?

May moved around behind her and gave her a light push. "Aren't you going to go talk to him? Kind of looks as if he means to talk to you as soon as he can."

"How do you know that? I've got no idea what he has in mind!" She tried to backpedal. "What if he—I think we should just get straight back in the car and—"

"Uh-uh! You promised Pete, remember?"

"Y-yes, I remember…"

"So walk right up and get it over with! Just give him the FBI offer and see what he says."

Rally clenched her quivering lips and took a deep breath. "Stay with me, please. Don't run off to give us some privacy, OK? I'm going to need plenty of moral support!" She clamped a hand on May's shoulder.

"Privacy?" May glanced around the noisy, crowded parking lot. "I don't think that's going to be a problem, honey!"

"_Will you meet me in the middle, will you meet me in the air?  
Will you love me just a little, just enough to show you care?  
Well, I tried to fake it, I don't mind saying, I just can't make it..." _

Someone with an official air and a name tag on his shirt approached the Corvette, probably to tell Bean to turn the radio down. Bean drained his Coke, wiped his mouth and stood up. He stretched to his full height and rolled his head around on his thick neck. Then he shouldered out of his armored jacket and threw it in the car. Huge, knotted and scarred, his muscular arms flexed as he crushed the plastic cup to a pellet. He hit a trash can twenty feet away with an overhand toss. The man with the name tag halted in mid-stride and moved away.

The boom box blasted out into the hot parking lot.

"Kicking off seven in a row with America," said the deejay in thunderous tones. "Bay Area classic rock, less talk on KFOX 98.5, coming at you with a peaceful, easy feeling, by special request..."

Bean sat down in the driver's seat of the Corvette again, one foot on the pavement and one in the car, and leaned back. He took off his sunglasses, picked up something from the passenger seat, opened a cover and looked down.

"_I like the way your sparkling earrings lay  
against your skin, it's so brown  
and I wanna sleep with you  
in the desert tonight  
with a billion stars all around…"_

Rally approached him with her hands over her ears against the loud music, May right behind her.

"Hellooo, Bean!" May spoke first, to Rally's great relief.

He gave an enormous start, the black folder jerking in his hands. On top of the front page lay a photograph, apparently the item he had been examining. It jumped clear of the folder and slipped off his lap. Bean tried to snatch it in mid-flight, but it evaded his grasp and fluttered to the ground. He had a panicked air; although he didn't turn to face them, Rally saw his ears redden.

"Uh...hi, kid." Bean bent down, half-glanced around and scrabbled for the photograph. He retrieved it and stuck it back in the folder, but not before Rally got a look at it. It wasn't the mother and child. It was May's shot of her with her hair blowing in the wind, the one Bean had swiped from her hotel room a few weeks ago. Well, maybe that said something…

But he said nothing at all, stuffing the folder down between the seats and remaining in a hunched position. He looked like a cornered animal.

"_And I found out a long time ago  
what a woman can do to your soul  
Ah, but she can't take you anyway  
You don't already know how to go..." _

"Aren't you going to say hi to Rally?" chirped May. "See, she's right here. Gosh, you know that radio's awfully loud—"

Rally found her voice, a surprisingly strong and calm one. "Hello, Bean."

His whole body vibrated, but he didn't look at her. "…Yo."

"Bean, I can't tell you how grateful I am that you have not chosen to subject the world to the undoubtedly soul-destroying experience of listening to you wail along with the Eagles, but I really think you ought to turn the volume a little lower."

Bean reached down and clicked the radio off, still not looking at her. She noticed it was an expensive shortwave model—he could probably get Tokyo on that thing. A bag of unshelled walnuts sat on the seat beside him. He grabbed a handful and stuffed two in his mouth; she heard the shells splinter between his teeth.

"So…I thought you were driving east. As early as you could make it, or something like that." She glanced at May, who gave her an encouraging nod.

"Yeah." He spoke through a mouth full of walnuts and spat out shell fragments like bullets.

"OK, so how do you get a hundred miles south of San Francisco by driving east? I don't think I saw that road on the map." She leaned against the car just behind the open driver's door. Bean's shoulder was a few inches from her hip.

"W-well…I collected all my junk and I said goodbye to Frisco. Got on the Bay Bridge about five minutes after six—the morning traffic sucks almost as bad as Chicago. Stopped for gas in Sacramento and bought some grub 'n' stuff for the trip. No such thing as an L-88 with a radio, naturally, and I got a certain fondness for listening to the police band..." His voice cracked, though he seemed determined to stick to banalities. "So, uh, I was aimin' to get over the mountains before lunch. Then I was going to bust ass across Nevada and bunk down when I reached Salt Lake. Can you get a cold beer in that burg? Sometimes I hear you can't."

"Something happen to upset that plan?"

"Not really." He squinted up at the bright sky, sounding a little steadier. "I stopped at Tahoe for about a quarter hour to look at the view and drink a few Buds and then I turned around. Never did get out of freakin' California."

"Any…particular reason?"

"Aw…I got a notion that there might still be some Dragons left in L.A. Or Brown's people, you know. Kind of an outside chance, but..."

Rally closed her eyes for a moment and bit her lips; his alibi was paper-thin and he knew it. But he couldn't come right out and tell her that he simply had not been able to leave her after all? On one hand, that knowledge warmed her from head to foot; on the other, it might be no use knowing if he was still determined to deny his own motives. Why wouldn't he get up and take her in his arms instead of hunkering in the driver's seat? Or even just look her in the face?

She tried again. "Bean, are you sure wasn't it anything to do with the fact that May and I were going there?"

"Well…sure it was. Hey, I figure it wouldn't do nothing for my rep if you gals got dry-gulched before you even got home."

"Your rep?" She sighed and smiled at the same time.

"Hey, those scumbags are still my deal, so I'm lookin' out for my partner. Never called it quits on that operation, you know."

"I guess we didn't. How long does that apply?"

Bean didn't answer for a few heartbeats, and he sounded almost tentative. "Till we get back to Chicago, I guess." He hung his head and ran a hand over his hair while he stared into his lap. "Or, uh, maybe you…uh, I guess I ain't in any hurry to…" He trailed off and muttered to himself.

"I'm not really in a hurry to get home either." She waited for him to go on.

"Aw, _shit_…" Bean seemed unable to say anything more for the moment, his shoulders quivering.

"Bean?" she prompted gently.

No response; he clenched a fist against his forehead and looked like he wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. Was he that embarrassed at being found out? Or was he trying to find the words to tell her exactly why he had driven such a long and roundabout route to get right back to where he had woken up this morning?

Rally moved back and peered into the car to give him a little breathing space. She saw a number of music CDs scattered in the passenger foot well, along with the crumpled sack of burgers, a road map folded to show a section of central California, an unopened pack of extra-large tube socks, a half-consumed case of Budweiser in the can and most of the empties, crushed flat in a fist rather than under a boot. Smiling at the bachelor mess, she put a hand on the car's hardtop. The midnight-blue paint sparkled in the sun.

"Geography."

She almost whispered it, but May heard.

"What do you mean, geography? He forgot how to read a map and got lost?"

"I guess that must be it." Rally rolled her eyes and started to turn away. May poked her.

"Hey, wait! You've got something to tell him!"

"Oh…right." Smith's offer had gone clean out of her head at the first sound of Bean's voice. "Um…Bean…"

"Yeah?" he said in a hopeless croak.

"Thank you for the earrings. I'm glad you were the one to give them to me."

"What earrings?"

"Bean, I am not playing this game. Just say, 'You're welcome, glad you liked them,' or something like that."

He was silent.

"At any rate, I appreciate the gift, and Agent Smith said it was all right to keep them, so I kept them. Maybe someday…I can put them on for you."

"You checked it with Smith?"

"I dropped by the Federal Building on the way out of town. Sure, I guess I needed his blessing in some respect, and I got it. And…I promised him I'd tell you something the next time I saw you."

Bean straightened up just a fraction. "What?"

"He told me about the conversation you had at the Sam party regarding some information he'd like to get from you. He couldn't put his whole offer on the table right then, but he can do it now, and he asked me to pass it on."

Bean was obviously paying attention; his whole body seemed tense and alert. "Yeah?"

"Pete said...that he wanted to arrange blanket Federal immunity for you, and that he's going to go through Roy about anything that falls under the auspices of the Chicago police. He wants...to help you wipe the slate clean."

His jaw clenched hard, muscles bulging in his neck; a tremor went through him. He took a deep breath before replying.

"Why?"

"He figures that's worth something to you. Better than money, he said, because of what money won't ever be able to buy you. And he knows there are some things even money won't get out of you. So he's offering this instead...or what it could let you have."

Rally closed her eyes for a moment and tried to breathe slowly. What would he say to this? Perhaps this was the real moment of truth; not what he did when trying to protect her from herself, not what he could bring himself to say out loud. What he would do with a new life, a life he could live in the full light of day instead of in shadow. Would he ever turn towards the sun of his own free will?

Bean was silent again. She tried to catch a glimpse of his face in the rear-view mirrors. Just his eyes: staring at some invisible point far ahead, wide and unblinking.

"Better than money." It was almost a whisper.

"Well, um—I guess the offer is good for another few months, though the sooner the better, I think, since Pete's retiring, and he said that he was sort of in your shoes once and someone gave him a hand up and told him to pass it on, and that's what he'd like to do for you, and, um, I guess for…but anyway, he wants to be kept posted in general, and, um, he's rooting for, um, us."

"…No shit."

"Frankly, I think he'd like to put this through on the strength of what you've already done. But, you know, he's got to sell it to his superiors, and of course to Roy, though if you look Roy up when you get home that might not turn out to be as hard as it might have seemed, speaking of God-given coincidences. Just give it some consideration, OK?"

She could tell Bean was doing exactly that; the set of his shoulders told her volumes. "What…it could let me have?"

"That's more or less how he put it. You do the math."

He finally turned and looked her straight in the face. His lips were twitching, his cheeks pale. "You ask Smith to do this?"

"No. I had no idea it was on his mind…or that it was even possible."

"All on his lonesome, he comes up with it?"

"As far as I can tell. May?"

May nodded gravely. "He said he likes you, Bean."

"Likes _me_?" His eyes narrowed.

"Oh…well…" said May vaguely. "If you get right down to it…" She inclined her head at Rally and pursed her lips.

Bean suddenly seemed even more alert, his gaze punching straight through her and his teeth showing. "Yeah? What's he think he's gonna get in return?"

Rally stared at him. "You mean like some valuable crime-fighting information? Bean—"

"You know what I mean! This guy keeps doin' you some damn big favors!" His hand gripped the top of the driver's door, the tendons standing out in sharp lines. "Never heard of a Fed that would even give a bounty hunter the time of day."

"Ooh, you might have a point there…" cooed May.

Bean's face darkened. "If he put one goddamn finger on you—"

"No, of course not! Pete's a gentleman." Rally was about to laugh off the whole idea, but relaxed into a smile; why not tease him a little? Smith was out of harm's way, and obviously May figured a touch of well-placed jealousy might goad Bean into making a declaration. Definitely worth a try!

"But I admit I've always had a soft spot for older men." Rally gave Bean a wink. "Especially when they can appreciate a GT-500. Did you notice, he even repaired all the damage YOU caused!"

"Shit!" Bean's boots hit the ground; he vaulted out of his seat and loomed over her like a thunderhead.

Rally took two full steps backwards; she had expected a reaction, but nothing this violent! "Bean? What's the…?"

Bean's face reddened; his fists clenched. "I heard some FBI guys talkin' about you and Smith at the wing-ding. They figured there was no way the bastard wasn't gettin' some, 'cause he'd laid out his whole next month's budget just on those car repairs!" He took a deep rasping breath and his mouth contorted. "Yeah, I know they were only blowin' shit about you, but it sure wasn't a lie from Smith's side of it!" He stabbed a finger straight north. "You tell him he can shove that immunity where the sun don't shine!"

"What?"

"I ain't takin' nothing from that sonofabitch, you hear me?" His eyes looked wild, on the verge of losing control. "I oughta drive straight back there and snap his fucking—"

"Oh, spare me! That's the stupidest thing I've heard from you all day, and that's saying something!" Rally stamped her foot.

He blinked at her, obviously shocked out of his rage.

"Geez! The chance of a lifetime, and you're going to get in a snit about a RUMOR? Don't you recognize a GIFT when you see it, you idiot? Can't you even be HAPPY for one second?"

"Huh?"

"I'm not sure I ever want to tell you good news again!" Rally put her fists on her hips and glared up at him. "God, Bean, what does it take? Grow up, you…you lock-jawed _shithead_!"

May gave a surprised little gasp, but after glaring back for a moment, Bean half-smiled.

"Yep, that's me." He tilted his chin up and folded his arms, squinting at the bright sky.

"You bet your ass." She rolled her eyes. "You are unbelievable. Anything nice that anyone would do for you has to have ulterior motives? Pete's even willing to tailor everything to your god-damned professional scruples. If I'd had anything to do with it, I'd make you work a LOT harder for a free pass like that!"

"Would ya?"

Rally stopped, her lips trembling. "Speaking of which…" she went on in a softer tone. "Before we left we heard about the donation to the victims' fund, so it's perfectly obvious that you know what generosity means."

He looked down at her, but his glance was guarded. "Generous?"

"I know, you're going to say it was all according to our partnership agreement and had nothing to do with any personal qualities of yours. Fine, you think that if you like. Just realize…that when they know about everything you've done…other people might think of you…as a good man." Her throat threatened to choke up. "Even…as a hero. And they might believe…that a little compassion applied to your situation…would go a long way." Her voice wobbled, so she gulped and looked down, covering her lips for a moment.

Bean looked deeply awkward again and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. Somehow that gave her heart; she tilted her face up to him and smiled. "Well, you've heard the offer, I've kept my promise, and we're heading south after we freshen up a little. How soon do you bet I'll catch up to you and leave that L-88 in my dust?"

Bean chuckled almost gratefully and leaned a hip against his car. "You can try."

"Thanks, I will."

"I haven't really pushed this baby to her limit yet. Of course, I'll have to tune her to my own specs when I get home...and I'm thinkin' I'm going to change the wheels and take a good look at the shocks." He craned over one shoulder to apply a critical glance to the left rear hubcap and rested an elbow on the hardtop. "But I'll let her take it easy after that, 'cause I'm already workin' on what's going into Buff Two."

"Ooh, that sounds like a project. What's your parts and development budget? I'll hazard a guess—six million dollars?" Teasing definitely put her on firmer ground.

He glanced sharply at her. "Don't think I'd need to spend it all on one car."

"Still, I bet you'll be able to fly that thing to the moon! You'll have to tell me how it's going."

He chuckled again. "Sure I will. Maybe you can drop by my designer's place and take a look-see when we got somethin' to show you."

"I'd like that. I don't suppose you're going to let me drive it, though!"

He shrugged. "Hey, you did fine with the 'Vette. Why not?"

"Thank you...for the compliment." She gave him a sweet, seductive smile.

Bean showed no reaction for a moment, then his eyes lost focus and he blushed to his hairline. Rally moved a little closer, patted the top of the car right next to his arm and looked up at him through her lashes. "I liked that drive very much, by the way. Did I show my appreciation properly?"

May was doing a very bad job of suppressing her giggles. She hugged herself and gave two thumbs-up to Rally.

A pause; Bean scratched his jaw and hid his mouth with one hand, but she saw him gulp hard. "Uh, yeah, no problem. Glad you enjoyed the, uh, ride." He swallowed again and pushed some loose hair off his forehead. She noticed a faint pink bite mark showing above the collar of his T-shirt. "Uh, that L-88 does purr like a kitten. It's a good machine. Kind of pretty, too. Never hurts."

Their eyes met. Bean's chest gave a heave; his color changed. Emotion tormented his features; he was obviously aching to let something out, almost begging himself to be allowed to speak.

He took a very deep breath and leaned a little forward, changing the angle of the sun on his face so that he no longer had to squint into the light, and looked down at her. Rally looked back, searching for something that had to be there. She hoped he was doing the same.

Bean slowly moistened his lips as if in preparation, but only held her gaze. Did he still need some cue from her, or from his own mind? What on earth WOULD it take? The moment was slipping away, and her heart contracted. May's camera clicked loudly in the silence, and both Bean and Rally jumped.

"Hey!" Bean's voice was suddenly harsh. "You takin' mug shots for the cops?"

"No, I'm just testing my fancy new Japanese digital thingie." She examined the tiny screen on the back of the camera, but from Rally's angle it was blank. "Nice car."

Bean gave her a suspicious look. "Don't go takin' pictures of me, kid. It ain't good for my health."

"Geez, Mister Paranoid!" May stuck out her tongue at him. "Why would I want pictures of YOU? Oooh, I need another pair of sunglasses, Rally! They sell them over there—I'll meet you in the candy store. Bye, Bean!" She skipped off.

They were left staring at each other, the mood completely broken. Bean flushed and gazed at the sky, digging his hands into his pockets.

"Well, have a good trip," said Rally after waiting in vain for anything more. Impatience vied with sympathy in her breast; she knew very well how hard this must be for him, but obviously she would hear nothing from him today, and possibly not ever. Despite her frustration, she managed a smile. "Don't get any speeding tickets." Bean snorted, but said nothing. "See you later."

As she walked over to the candy store, she heard the unmistakable deep snarl of the L-88 starting up behind her, but she didn't break stride. So he was going. The sound of the engine retreated and faded.

May came in after a few minutes with a shopping bag, got a strawberry cone at the ice cream counter and sidled up to Rally. "So…any progress?"

"No. He didn't say a word after you left."

"I thought I heard the car." May tilted her head. "Sorry I might have spooked him with the camera, but it was kinda hard to resist the opportunity…"

"Oh, GOD! Why did we have to run into him here?" Rally grabbed a box of walnut fudge. "This is awful—he's all humiliated and self-conscious because there's no logical explanation EXCEPT coming back to find me, and he was probably planning to sort of casually run into us down south once he'd thought of something reasonably plausible so he could save a little face, and now he's going to bolt straight for home just like he meant to when he left, and…"

"So he doesn't get to have it all his own way for once? Aw, poor baby!" May grabbed a pound box of chocolate-pecan turtles and tossed it into Rally's shopping basket. "Come on, Ral—that's a guy who's got plenty of face to spare. He'll recover!"

"You think so?"

"Yep. Shouldn't take him too long!"

Rally shook her head in despair. "Obviously he finds it just about impossible to SAY anything! Even when he's close, he's miles away…"

"Well, yeah, I think you're right about that! But gosh, even if he does feel like a total fool right now, this was pretty brave of him. I mean, after making such a big deal out of all his reasons for running away, he tosses everything to the wind and goes in search of the woman he couldn't leave behind?"

"I…I thought that walking out of that hotel room was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life…"

"And probably about five minutes later he realized WHY it was so hard, because he was dead wrong on just about every count and he'd broken your heart in a bad cause." May shook her head. "Nope, I wouldn't be him right now for a million bucks!"

"You think he's ashamed of himself?" They stood in line at the busy cash register.

"Totally! But gosh, he's such a romantic!" May bounced up and down and took a big lick of her ice cream, waggling her tongue over the peak of the scoop. "Makes me feel all tingly…"

"Romantic? Bean?"

"How fast did he have to drive to get to Lake Tahoe and back by this time, do you think?"

"Pretty fast."

"Yeah, but I bet the outbound leg was slow, at least for Bean! Rally, you know what this means! I'm really betting he'll go for some form of Smith's deal, because now it's got to be exactly what he wants. But he didn't need a definite plan like that to bring him back. He had no idea how he was going to make it work when he turned around. He just knew…that he had to do it somehow. For you."

Rally gave an involuntary shudder, a warm and thrilling one. "For me…?"

"Hey, I have something you have got to look at!" May juggled her cone to extract a photograph in a cardboard sleeve from her shopping bag. "Gosh, I totally adore my new camera! They had this cool photo machine in the souvenir stand, so I had to test it. You can make your own enlargements on the spot. I stuck the camera card in and the machine spit the picture out—it was totally easy!"

"Uh…that's nice, May." Rally rolled her eyes with a smile. "You sure are a shutterbug on this trip!"

"You bet! And this has to be the best shot of the WHOLE bunch!" May held it out. "The best pic I ever took in my life! C'mon, look at it. Pleeease!"

"All right…whatever!" Rally put her shopping basket down, took the photograph and slid it out of the sleeve. The glare of the shop lighting bounced off the glossy surface, so she tilted it up to see it better, the image taking a moment to resolve on her retinas.

"What the…? You just took this a few minutes ago!"

"Yeah, that's the cool thing about digital cameras!" May jiggled on her heels, looking expectantly at Rally.

In the picture, Rally stood in front of Bean, who propped one elbow on his car and looked down at her. It wasn't a good likeness of Rally, since only part of her face was visible from the rear, but it was an excellent shot of Bean.

The strong sunlight threw his features into powerful relief, a blue-white glint adorning his black hair. Head bowed a little forward, shoulders squared, he had his gaze fixed on her and his lips set in the slightest, yet warmest, of daydreaming smiles.

Rally drew in her breath. The expression on his face, and especially the expression in his eyes, had seemingly been magnified and concentrated by translation into a flat image. Or somehow the unblinking lens of the camera had captured the ephemeral trace of Bean's thoughts fully revealed on his face, something that had constantly escaped her with the naked eye. Passionate, cherishing, unspeakably beautiful. Her knees felt weak just at the idea that she could pair that emotion with that face.

"Isn't that the most romantic thing you've ever seen? You should send him a copy!" May giggled wickedly. "I think that's good enough for blackmail. Make him admit he's got a heart or you show it all around town!"

Rally knew her own version of that expression was written on her face. "It's…gorgeous."

"Aw, I knew you'd like it! You feel like you know something for sure now?"

Well, of course she knew. She'd always known. She didn't need anyone to draw her a picture...

She looked up, the photograph shaking a little in her hand. "M-May…do you think we'll see Bean again soon?"

"Girl, I think you just might meet him on the road east. Once or twice. At least." She snickered and licked her ice cream again.

"Maybe I will." Rally stared up at the display of multicolored candy canes. How long would it take to make it home? A week? Two weeks if she took the scenic route, with detours and stopovers included. All of a sudden she decided to make her trip into a leisurely tour of the western United States. What was the rush, anyway? Every night, she'd sleep in a motel bed…

"Next, please," said the sales clerk. Rally startled and opened her purse.

After making their purchases, they walked towards Rally's car. Two middle-aged men were stooped over the car, looking in the windows, and Rally greeted them with a wave.

"Is it a '67?" asked one breathlessly. "Gosh, I always wanted one of those."

"Nice seats," said the other. "Great restoring job, miss!" She chatted with them for a moment, then May tugged on her sleeve.

"What?"

"He's still here." May pointed over Rally's shoulder. "I take back everything I ever said about you having trouble figuring out what the real deal is with you and Bean, because he's the undisputed champion of indecision."

"Still…here?"

Double-parked under a tree near the road, Bean stood by the side of the Corvette playing with his keys. With a repeated jingling sound, he tossed them up in the air and caught them in his gloved palm. He wasn't looking at her; he seemed even less sure of himself than before, if that were possible.

"I give up," said May. "What is going to make that guy take the leap? He wants it so bad he's practically wetting his pants, and he's still dithering around!"

"Oh…I think I have an idea," said Rally.

"You do?"

"Uh-huh." A strange buoyancy filled her, like a cool breeze across the hot parking lot. She couldn't help smiling; she nearly laughed out loud. "I'm going to speak to him…and this time, in his own language."

"Pardon?"

Rally handed the shopping bags to May, excused herself to the car aficionados and moved towards Bean. When he saw her striding between the cars, he put his keys in his jeans pocket and unhooked his sunglasses from the neck of his T-shirt. As she approached, he put the sunglasses on and pushed them up the bridge of his nose, running a finger along the frames.

"Something frightening you, Bean?"

"Like what?" He turned his face away, jaw jutting out at a blunt angle.

"Like…making up your mind?"

"Huh?"

Rally walked right up to Bean, reached up to his chest and grabbed a handful of his T-shirt. When he looked at her she looped the other hand around his neck, pulled his head down and claimed his mouth with hers.

Bean gasped. His casual stance wobbled as his knees gave way, and she knew not triumph, but serenity. So what if he never said the words to her his whole life long? She didn't need them; she didn't need anything but him. In casting aside her last shield, she had uncovered herself stronger than ever.

He shook from boots to scalp, quaking in her arms. She wondered if she had spooked him; his mouth tensed and closed. But in the next moment his arms locked around her and he parted his lips and kissed her back. Oh, he kissed her back; the dark passion of the night and the bright warmth of the afternoon sun swirled around them so tightly that she knew they could never be unmixed again. His embrace crushed the breath from her, and everything she had ever learned about him made perfect sense.

May jumped up and down next to the Cobra and let out excited little squeaks. Stepping back and holding Bean's hands in hers, Rally smiled at his shell-shocked look.

"Well, here's a proposal…sweetheart." She squeezed his hands and let him go. "We have reservations at the Marriott Hotel next to Magic Mountain. Rooms 427 and 428—one's for May and Ken, and the other's for me. Just come right on up…since I plan to be all checked in and unpacked by the time you make it there."

Since he seemed to have forgotten to breathe, he did not answer her for a moment. "Yeah…OK," he managed to get out.

"But if by some strange mischance you do get there first, I'll look in the bar." She gave him a wink.

He put his hands on his hips and looked at the ground, still trembling slightly. "I guess."

"Sounds like a plan," said Rally after a pause. "Have a nice drive."

"Uh-huh," said Bean, either as an affirmation or in return. His face twitched; he adjusted his sunglasses.

"Goodbye, then." She turned and walked a little unsteadily towards May, who clasped her hands together and against one cheek, smiling so widely her eyes were almost shut.

"This is SO romantic! I love it!"

Rally stung the top of her head with a fingernail. "Stop rubbing it in and get in the damn car." May pumped her fists alternately in the air, giggling like a demented monkey.

"Hey, Vincent?" Bean called out when she touched the door handle of the Cobra. Though he was obviously trying to sound nonchalant, his voice cracked and ruined the illusion.

"What?"

"Tag me till we get out to I-5, huh?"

"Oh, you feel like kicking off with a drag race?"

"Yeah. Give this b-baby a good run, and, uh..." His eyes were still concealed behind his sunglasses, but his mouth had a faint, smiling slant. It curled into a glorious grin as she watched, the purest happiness she'd ever seen on his face. "I'd surely appreciate another chance at that sweet straight stretch of road."

"You only had to ask." Rally gave him a thumbs-up and a smile. She opened her door as May bounced into the passenger seat, still giggling.

Once more Bean called to her, his voice pealing out across the busy parking lot. "Rally!"

"Yes?"

He took a deep breath and cupped his hands around his mouth. "I… LOVE… YOU!"

So loud her ears rang: she almost felt the breeze ruffle her hair. A dozen passing tourists stared at him, and so did Rally. What a set of lungs he had—that tremendous shout should have been heard all up and down the West Coast!

May froze, hands on the dashboard and her mouth wide open. Rally could not speak a word in reply; she grabbed the car roof for support and watched the sky and the ground change places. What had he just done in one audacious stroke? She felt as if a great wild animal had burst free of its cage before her eyes and knocked her down in a single bound.

An animal? The wildest, strongest, most fearless creature that lived: a man in love.

Bean tossed his sunglasses high in the air, flung his arms wide as if to embrace the world and laughed out loud, his black hair flying in the sun. "GOD, I LOVE YOU, RALLY IRENE VINCENT!"

He had given her a promise, that was what he had done. His unbreakable word. She knew beyond all doubt that Bean Bandit kept his promises. To the death...

"Ohhh…!" May came out of her shocked catatonia, put the back of her hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon with romantic ecstasy. All Rally could see of her was a pair of tennis shoes waggling blissfully in the air.

"WELL, I TOLD YOU SO, BEAN!" Rally yelled back with both hands on her bounding heart, her laugh as joyous as his. "BECAUSE I LOVE YOU TOO! AND I'M GOING TO RACE THE PANTS OFF YOU ALL THE WAY BACK TO CHICAGO!"

"I'M GONNA TAKE YOU UP ON THAT, DARLIN', AND I'LL DO THE SAME FOR YOU!"

"YOU'RE ON, ROADBUSTER!"

"YEEEHAW!" Bean jumped into his Corvette with a whoop; instantly the engine roared to life.

Behind the wheel, Rally cranked up the radio, backed up and did a swift 180 to beat the midnight-blue Corvette out of the parking lot, two sets of tires squealing exultantly on the hot California asphalt.

_AND_

_IT'S_

_THE_

_EVER-LOVIN'_

_**END!**_


End file.
